Terrible Faith A 2 part story
by Filter
Summary: Terrible Faith is a two-part story set about mid-show, and Toby is having a incredibly difficult time.  His friends try to help put him back together, with variable success.
1. Chapter 1

"The Bright & Terrible Desert", story one in the series _Terrible faith._ (John Steinbeck, _The Grapes of Wrath, _Ch. 12). All disclaimers- not mine, never have been, and due thanks and respect to John Steinbeck who might not have minded how I borrowed some lines! _Filter1970_

_The people in flight from the terror behind—strange things happen to them, some bitterly cruel and some so beautiful that faith is refired forever._

-_The Grapes of Wrath_, Ch. 12, John Steinbeck

Dark and jagged shapes floated around the edge of the room, calling attention to themselves by their lack of substantive form—they could not be seen straight on. This in itself was disturbing enough, this lack of form and frame, but what seemed most disturbing and disjointed was the persistence.

In the haze of the dream, he felt pulled nearer to the doorway, away from the perceived safety of the middle of the room. He knew if he touched the doorknob, if they knew he was near, the shapes, they'd try to keep him here. And he wanted to stay in the room. He didn't want to open the door. But nothing was able to make him stop, no silent prayers or inaudible cursing. He touched, and the door swung open.

"Wait."

With a strangled word Toby Ziegler felt himself come awake with alarming suddenness, the dream clawing to keep him down, keep him in the nightmarish fantasy which made his body shiver and sweat. He had halfway risen from the bed, arms stiff, and took gulps of air to calm his heart. He felt the pounding behind his eyes and blinked rapidly, dispelling as best he could the afterimages burning into his retina.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat still, arms braced on the edge, deciding whether to vomit or just breathe deeply—Toby felt nauseous and dizzy.

"It's just waking up like that," he muttered to himself, finally lifting one hand to his chest and rubbing away the constant ache. He realized he was only wearing his pajama pants and grabbed an edge of the sweat-soaked sheet and wiped the coldness from his chest.

It seemed an hour before he moved from the edge of the bed, standing stiffly and making his way to the bathroom. His bedside clock had read 3:21 when he'd glanced at it, and the frighteningly drawn face he stared at in the mirror told him he was more than a few hours away from a good night's sleep. _Something like three days away_, he thought tiredly. He turned the taps and splashed gaspingly cold water on his face, rubbing his beard hard and looking again. _Nope—still look like hell_, he mused.

With the sudden determination which marked much of Toby's life, he stripped and stepped into the shower. He felt better with the sweat off his body, but became alarmed when he tilted his head back to let water run down him—an intense vertigo slammed into him and he gasped, throwing out his arms to keep from falling. The clang of the glass shower door scared him but he kept himself standing, arms locked, as he breathed slowly with eyes closed. When he opened them again he observed the shower jump slightly to the left, then settle grudgingly. Toby leaned against the wall and just allowed water to rush over him until it turned cold. Stepping out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went into his kitchen. He was careful not to move too fast.

If Toby had of late been a drinking man, he'd have appeared to any observer to have a bad hangover. His exhaustion, dizziness, headaches, and vertigo seemed patently hangover-like. Toby Ziegler hadn't had a drink for a week now, though, and his symptoms were something beyond alcohol-induced.

"Sam, I can't make you do this? What do you mean I can't? You gonna stop me?"

Toby was, for him, in a relatively good mood while he badgered Sam Seaborn. Toby was exercising his handoff prerogatives and had given Sam a short fifteen minute speech to write for the President's visit to a packinghouse and his deputy had balked.

"Toby, come on—"

"What, have you become a vegetarian or something on your off time? It's a little speech, in, out, bam bam."

Sam frowned. "Then you do it."

"I'm making you do it. I have important and weighty things on my mind right now," Toby had said, walking into his office. Sam followed, waving a file folder with meat packing information.

"Like what? Where to go for dinner?"

Toby sat at his desk and frowned. "As if I'd have the time. Look, Sam, just drop it on my desk in two hours. You can do this in your sleep."

"Yeah, well, so could you. I don't even like beef, Toby!"

"Make sure you put that in the speech, Sam, now go."

"I hope you catch mad cow from McDonald's," Sam muttered as he left, passing CJ Cregg on her way into Toby's office. "Hey, CJ."

"Hi Sam," she said shortly as she entered the office. Toby looked up from a memo and raised his brows.

"Claudia Jean, and how can I help you?"

The smile on Toby's face died as he looked at CJ. He knew her very well, and could read her face better than any Capitol Hill reporter, even Danny Concannon. "What?"

"Toby, Leo and the President need to see you," she said quietly. Toby was out of his chair before she finished the sentence, color draining from his face.

"Is it David?" he asked as he walked out the door of his office with her. She shook her head. Toby hated the concentrated effort CJ was making to keep her face neutral as they negotiated the corridors. "CJ?"

"The President wanted to see you as soon as possible, and they asked me to get you, Toby. Just please—"

CJ didn't finish her sentence as they came to the Oval Office. Charlie showed them in—_why both of us?_ Toby wondered, his stomach freezing as they came in. The President and Leo McGarry were standing in front of the big Resolute desk and Toby immediately noticed both their faces were almost comically concerned.

"Leo, Mr. President—can I help you?"

Then Bartlet motioned Toby to sit, and CJ sat next to him as the President and Leo sat opposite, and Toby was hearing words and knew he was hearing them, and knew he was expected to react somehow but he couldn't. He saw the sorrow on both men's faces, the genuine concern, heard the voices, and through it all couldn't summon up a reaction. Then CJ took his hand in hers, he turned to look at her, and began to weep silently and almost tearlessly. Leo and the President left the room unobtrusively as CJ watched a dear friend stare into her eyes with uncomprehending sorrow.

"Toby," she whispered. He kept staring, and CJ felt her heart break at the small tear that ran into his beard from his right eye. She had noticed he'd gradually been tightening his grip on her hand. "Toby," CJ repeated.

And then he had fallen into her and held onto her tightly, her body reacting at first by tensing and then she gradually relaxed as she felt him shaking all over, desperate but soft sobs muffled in part by her hair. She held him close, beginning to rock just a little, one hand making slow, comforting circles on his back.

Suddenly, Toby stood, shook his head, and sighed. He seemed almost normal again, but CJ noticed his dark eyes seemed shinier than usual and somewhat manic. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.

"Thank—thank you."

"Can I do anything right now for you?" she asked, worried at his turnaround, standing.

"No. I've got—I have some things I have to do." With nothing more Toby walked purposefully out of the room, leaving CJ more than a little concerned.

No one knew what had happened when he walked through the bullpen into his office. They all just saw their boss striding through in his normal half-surly way, entering his office, and closing the door quietly. He sat in his desk chair, looked blankly around for a moment at his desk, thoughtfully picked up his rubber ball, and began throwing it against the back wall.

In his office, hammering away at the speech, Sam grew annoyed with the pounding of the ball. He never failed to marvel at the regularity of the bouncing, and though he appreciated that, and the fact Toby thought through ideas while throwing the ball, it nevertheless made it hard to concentrate. And it pissed him off.

"All right," Sam said finally, after ten minutes of pounding. "All right, Toby."

He got up and went to the office next door, intending to storm in, and was surprised by the closed door. Sam hesitated, began to turn the knob, and something caught his eye. He let his hand fall from the knob and peered through the shades in the office window.

"Oh, Toby," he whispered to himself. Sam's glance had been caught by the tears shining on Toby's face, constantly renewed as his boss flung the ball and caught it, toss and catch, toss and catch. Sam was caught off balance—he didn't know whether to go in or leave Toby alone. He was still standing outside when Leo came up to him.

"Sam."

"Leo—I, uh, I don't know what's happened, but Toby…" Sam said, trailing off as he turned to look at Leo. McGarry wore a serious, slightly sad look. "What happened?"

"Sam, Toby's brother called. Mrs. Ziegler died early this morning in her sleep. Heart attack."

Sam felt his stomach drop. "Oh. Oh god. When did-?"

"Just earlier, about half an hour ago. I came to tell him to go home. What's he been doing?" Leo asked, looking in at Toby who resolutely tossed the ball, toss and catch, toss and catch.

"Just—throwing that ball. About fifteen minutes or so. Oh, man. I was coming in to tell him to stop, Jesus. I didn't know." Sam felt miserable, like he'd been personally responsible for Toby's tragedy. Leo knew how Sam felt.

"It's okay. Look, will you get CJ? I think he'll need some convincing to go home."

"Yeah, of course. Be right back."

As it turned out, Toby needed little convincing to go home. CJ knocked at his door. The bouncing immediately stopped as she came in. She looked at his tear-streaked face and said, "I'll take you home." A nod was the only response she got.

On the way to his apartment CJ asked him a few questions, but Toby didn't answer any of them with a complete sentence. He kept his face forward and muttered an inaudible thanks to CJ when he got out at his apartment. Toby shook his head when CJ asked him if he wanted her to stay. He made to go up his stairs, stopped, and bent down into the car again.

"I was the one," he said, voice very shaky and quiet.

"What?" 

"Me. I was the one who suggested the home. It was me."

Before CJ could respond, Toby had turned and climbed the stairs to his building. She looked after him, sighed, and drove slowly off, wondering what she might have said to make him better.

Sitting in his kitchen, water drying slowly on his body, Toby wondered what he could have done better. It had been a week since his mother's funeral, an awkward affair as so many things between he and his brother were.

Their mother had been Catholic, and though she had never objected to the kosher household or the boys' being raised Jewish, she had never converted and went every Sunday to an early mass at the church down the street. Toby had always wondered at her ability to negotiate both faiths, especially her ability to help the boys study for the bar mitzvah and answer questions almost as well as any rabbi. But he had always been closer to her than David, and wondered if their present half-healed relationship had anything to do with that. David had been their father's favorite, a studious but outgoing boy who excelled in sports and school. His sister was much older than the boys and by the time Toby and David were just hitting their teens Rachel was in Fordham, and though she'd tried to keep Micah off Toby's back, without Rachel there Toby lost a real ally.

Toby was too serious to be much fun, Micah Ziegler had said, and Toby often was left behind when David and their father went to the park. But he hadn't minded. His learning leapt ahead of David's and in eighth grade they were both in the same class, though David was a year and a half older. Toby's quiet defiance aggravated Micah excessively and more than once Toby had felt his father's weight behind the open-handed spank or, as he grew up, the slap. David became detached from his brother, off-handedly polite but not affectionate. But their mother had made sure Toby felt love, compassion, and pride from her. She was the only one at his basketball games, the only one to watch him excel at baseball, and the only one who had any faith in his interest in politics. He had loved her excessively and deeply.

_Then why did you put her in the home?_ he kept asking himself. He spun a notepad on the kitchen table with his finger as he thought. Toby remembered his father's annoyance with Toby's thinking habits—"Will you stop with the paddle ball!" Micah Ziegler had screamed once, scaring Toby. He had been absently whacking the ball with the wooden paddle as he puzzled over an English writing assignment. Toby knew he loved to write and manipulate words. He had forgotten, and would keep forgetting, that he had thinking habits that were tactile—the paddle ball, a baseball tossed from hand to hand, the dangerous habit of walking back and forth near the stairwell while deep in thought. As his finger spun the pad slowly, Toby thought he had never done enough to keep his father happy—and he felt it had made his mother unhappy as well.

Sighing, he pushed the pad away and leaned back in the chair. He was almost dry, and stood to get something to drink. Toby pushed up from the chair, turned to the refrigerator, and almost fell. He caught himself on the edge of the counter in time to keep from falling all the way to the ground, pulled himself up until he was leaning over the sink, and retched dryly. He closed his eyes against the spinning and waited for the bile and gastric juices from an empty stomach to come up. Nothing. He blindly turned on the cold tap and rinsed his mouth out. He stood up, waited for the spinning sensation to end, and opened his eyes.

"Shit. Ah, god, please, stop it. Stop it now," he whispered. He reached and got the phone from the wall, and looked at it, considering. He knew it was still before five in the morning. Toby thought again about his nightmare, took a breath, and hit redial.

Across town, CJ had already woken out of a bad night's sleep and was nearsightedly brushing her teeth when her phone rang. She jumped a little, spat out toothpaste, and ran to the phone. She almost fell over a chair in her bedroom and cursed her luck for running out of contacts. She crawled over the bed to the phone and her glasses, juggling both before getting the phone to her ear. "Yeah?"

Toby sensed the frustration in her voice. He winced a little. "Hey. It's me."

"Toby?" CJ said, fixing her glasses on. The clock on the table told her 4:18. She clicked on the lamp and focused. "Yes?"

Toby leaned against the counter and nervously twisted the phone cord in his left hand. For some reason he felt absurdly naked talking to CJ while wearing a towel. "I'm sorry, I woke you up." He said it as a statement but hoped she'd take it as a question. He heard her laugh a little.

"No, believe it or not. I couldn't sleep."

"Is anything wrong?"

CJ closed her eyes. That was like Toby, assertively making sure everyone else was okay while he barely held on to things with both bloody hands. She knew it was a defense, and knew he needed her to play along for his sanity.

"I'm just a little overcaffeinated," she lied. "I'll be fine. Been up for a few minutes."

"Okay."

"How about you?"

"Oh. I'm—I managed to get some sleep in, you know. Took a shower." Toby wondered why he couldn't just tell his dearest friend that he was terrified of dreaming, was almost constantly dizzy, and felt haunted by ghosts. He wondered why he was so very self-contained. "I'm okay."

_Oh, Toby, you are so not okay,_ CJ thought. She loved Toby, knew him better than anyone else, and in spite of all that felt herself growing tired. She knew he needed to grieve, to mourn, and knew he wasn't going to let himself. "Are you?" she asked him. The silence on the other end was answer enough. "Toby?"

"I've been having bad vertigo," he admitted, surprising himself. As he said the words, he felt an absurd relief—he felt he'd now spread the stress.

"Bad? How bad? And how long?" CJ was sitting up and listening closely.

Toby shuffled his bare feet a little, nervous. "A couple of days," he said softly. He was lying—the vertigo had begun as passing dizziness the day his mother had died, and he had been ignoring the vague fuzzy headaches and blurred vision until two days ago when he almost slammed into a light post while driving home at 2 AM. Since he'd taken a couple of days off no one had noticed he wasn't driving anymore.

"Days? Have you gone to the doctor?" CJ knew his answer already.

"No."

"And are you going to go in to work today?"

"Yes."

"No. I'm gonna take you to the doctor myself." CJ was trying to reach her charging cell phone on her dresser as she spoke.

Toby shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot. He knew that calling CJ had been a form of asking for help, but he didn't know if he was capable of actually asking. He knew CJ knew that, of course—hadn't that been why he'd called her? "You have to go to work," he said softly, so softly she asked him to repeat himself.

"No, I have to make sure you don't fall down some stairs and break your head. It could be a vision thing, could be stress—who knows, Toby?"

"I've been off for two days already, I can't miss more work."

CJ snorted. "Sam's doing fine. He's kinda liking it without you there—no bouncing balls."

In spite of himself, Toby smiled. "I know."

"Look. I'll call in and take a half day—Josh or someone can do the briefing. We'll head to my doctor and see if she can refer you to someone. All right?"

Toby felt a weight lift from him. "All right."

"Good. I'll pick you up at 730. Be ready. And don't fall down the stairs."

Toby said goodbye and carefully made his way back to his bedroom. He changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, an old CCNY one. He thought it odd that CJ had told him not to fall down stairs. It had been a fall that nearly killed him which sent him packing to CCNY instead of Stanford or Duke.

Toby had been sitting at the kitchen table, reading for the fifth time through his senior thesis on nonviolent protest as a means of radical governmental change, looking for just the right hook and the perfect synthesis of words and emotion. He'd received several awards for writing and was the editor of the school paper as well as a contributor to the local community paper, and his work was widely praised as more mature than his years. Toby's mom and sister were extremely proud of his work, his brother David distantly proud from MIT, and his dad not at all impressed. Toby had managed to win a smile from the old man when he'd become the starting shortstop on the varsity team. Toby would letter in baseball and basketball, and graduate with an A- average. Yet all the success in the world never seemed enough for Toby's father.

As he sat at the table, he heard the mailbox bang shut and ran down the stairs to check it. He had been waiting for college acceptance letters, and though he felt certain he'd get into most of the schools he wanted to, he was eager to go to Stanford, Duke, or Berkeley. His mother had indicated that they had been saving over the years for all their children's educations, including Toby's, and that they would be able to pay for at least the first two years of his education. He'd been surprised to find this out, since both Rachel and David had received full scholarships and never needed money. Toby felt he'd get some money, but wasn't secure enough to think he'd get a full ride. He wanted to be able to tell his parents to keep their money, Toby Ziegler was paying his own way.

He ran back up the stairs with a biggish envelope in his hand from UC Berkeley. Trembling slightly, he sat down, stood, and sat again, squeezing the envelope between his fingers and wondering if it was thick enough to be an acceptance. He'd already received acceptance letters from SUNY and CCNY as well as Colgate, and knew what they felt like.

Finally the sound of the downstairs door slamming galvanized him and he ripped open the envelope. His father came in from work as Toby was reading intently.

"Don't say hello or anything, son," Micah Ziegler said shortly. Toby paid no attention as his eyes ran over the page. Micah tossed his jacket over a chair and sat heavily, exhausted but feeling a little drunk after seven beers post-work. He usually had a couple after work with friends, and today had been such a hard day they'd had a couple extra. Micah wasn't feeling particularly bad—he just never had much patience for his serious son.

Toby ignored him a half minute longer, then his eyes lit up brilliantly and a huge smile broke out on his face. He raised his triumphant look to his father. "I made it!" he cried, exuberant.

"Made what?"

Toby stood and waved the letter in front of his father's face, coming far too close for Micah's hazy comfort. "Berkeley! I'm in, and maybe with a scholarship!" Toby crowed, not really paying attention to his father's exhaustion and irritation.

Micah slapped the letter out of Toby's hand. "Stop that! Quit hopping around like a fool."

Toby felt a little of his exhilaration drain from him. He looked away from his father, sighed—something he knew annoyed his dad, and leaned against the doorway to the stairs. "Dad—"

"What? Can't I come home to a little quiet, for god's sake?"

"I was just telling you I got into Berkeley. I thought you'd be happy." Toby was beginning to notice his father's absently drunk look. "Aren't you?"

Micah looked up and saw his son, lanky, tall, self-assured, and expectant, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. Toby's eyes were mildly disgusted—he hadn't yet learned how to hide all his feelings under a veneer of aloof annoyance and irritation. His body was relaxed, easy, confident with the effortless strength of youth—and all of a sudden Micah Ziegler hated his son Toby. He hated his intelligence, his youth, his pride—and hated that Toby couldn't keep his contempt for Micah out of his dark eyes, eyes he'd inherited from his mother. _Those eyes_, Micah thought in wonder. _I've never seen him look at me like he looks at his mother with those eyes._

Toby watched his father stand, steady if a bit nervous about footing. He shifted his weight to one side, leaning into the frame more. Later, he thought if he hadn't unbalanced himself, things might have been so different. Toby had often thought how a little balance in his life might have made many things very different.

"Do you want me to run and shout, praise God my son is a genius? I _have_ a genius son! And a genius daughter! What are you?" Micah was belligerent but not loud, and Toby thought he knew the mood.

"Dad, I just want to go to college, make good grades, get a good job. I don't have to be a genius to do that, do I?"

"You're such a—such a leftover! God, what did we need another of you kids for, I asked your mother. I asked her if we shouldn't—but no. And here you are, ready to leave. Like that."

Toby felt he'd missed something, that he should be reacting differently but hadn't gotten the clues. He knew he should just let his father talk, as he had so many evenings before. He hadn't asked for anything since he as 12, had worked very hard and paid for his own small delights, his own bike—_and still he can't give me a break_.

"Dad, I haven't asked you for anything since I was a kid. I won't ask you for anything for college. I don't even ask that you like me. I know you don't. So the sooner I'm gone, the better, no?" He had just completed the sentence when Micah got very close to him and he found himself looking down into his father's eyes and being frightened by what he saw.

"Yes," was all Micah said before he gave Toby a hard two-handed shove that meant to dismiss his son and ended up nearly dismissing him forever.

His unbalanced stance made Toby hit the stairwell wall awkwardly and he couldn't get his feet under him in time to prevent the fall. Toby felt something horribly painful in his back as he tumbled hard down the steep stairs, cracking his skull open on a stair before coming to rest in a limp and unnatural heap at the bottom. Micah Ziegler stared in half-comprehension at the body of his youngest son. His mouth opened, closed, opened, and then he went and sat at the kitchen table, staring mutely before him. He was still sitting that way when the scream came up from the stairwell as Toby's mother found him.

The surgery and therapy cost all the Zieglers' savings, and Micah's insurance didn't cover such injuries. For a week Toby lay in a coma after brain surgery to remove pressure and carefully pick small bone fragments from his brain. The doctors greatly feared swelling and damage and worried aloud about Toby's possible recovery. For two weeks after he woke with a start from the coma, Toby was still considered critical. Small seizures afflicted him on and off for a month after that, though his doctors had pronounced him stable after observing his bullheaded stubborn will to live. He had crushed a vertebrae in his lower spine and was in a painful brace before and after surgery to his back. Toby Ziegler's recovery was considered a miracle—by all but Toby.

Toby knew that the intense pain, the fear, the constant medical needs, were not miraculous. He felt they were a special circle of hell that Dante himself could never have conceived of. Every day he fought to convince himself he should keep breathing, keep living, and every night he prayed he'd die in his sleep so he wouldn't have to fight again in the morning.

He couldn't tell any of this to anyone, though—the injury to his head seemed to have slightly scrambled the circuits between his mind and his tongue. He could think perfectly clearly and reason and argue with himself, but his speech wasn't coming out right. In a panic he had heard his doctors assure him he would recover his speech well, with time, and that the frailty of his right side would also abate. As many times as they told Toby he'd make a full, even miraculous recovery, that many times he silently wished they'd all go away and die. _Better yet, _he thought one afternoon_, let them take my place._

Toby knew his condition would improve—he was still quite rational when he wasn't writhing in pain or doped out of his mind. He understood everything happening, from his gradually normalizing brain to the need for painful therapy so he could walk again. He also understood his parents were going broke while he recovered.

At the beginning of his second month in the hospital, when he was still having trouble speaking, his brother came to see him. David had come to see Toby when he was still in a coma, and had left after three days of no change to go back to MIT. He'd been frightened of Toby's appearance and was glad to see his brother somewhat more stable.

"Hey, Toby. You're looking better, man," he said as he pulled up a chair. He noticed Toby had a small notepad on his stomach and a pencil in his left hand. David remembered Toby was right-handed.

Toby gave him a half smile, swallowed hard, and scratched on the pad with his pencil. David leaned over to look. _Hey bro_ it said. David felt his eyes sharpen with tears as he realized Toby still couldn't speak. His old fear returned.

"Are—you look okay—I know, I said that. Can you speak any now? Mom told me you were trying."

Toby nodded slightly. He swallowed again, forced his gummy mouth open, and rasped out a "hey". The effort was intense but as always hearing his voice pleased Toby. David smiled.

"All right! It's a start, huh? Hey—what can I do for you?" David watched his brother scribble awkwardly.

_Need to get out. Going broke. Help?_

"The—mom and dad? I thought dad had insurance?"

_Not covered_.

"Ah—ah, shit. They're going through their savings—shit, Toby. Your savings. For college," David said quietly. His brother nodded. "Shit. But look, it's not your fault, you shouldn't worry about that—"

_Don't care—help. Make them use it._

"Mom won't."

_No choice. Use it._

David stood, tears threatening. He felt helpless, useless—and all out of touch with his family and his brother. He had the vague understanding Toby and their father had had an argument and Toby had tripped, and even David knew Toby probably was helped with the tripping, but he hadn't really comprehended how desperate the Zieglers were. David turned and stared at his little brother, thinning and surrounded by obscene medical machinery monitoring his every function, and wondered at Toby's persistence.

"Toby, what do you want me to do? I can't make mom spend the money."

Toby wrote furiously, ignoring the pain in his head and hand, disgusted with his sloppy left-handed writing. David wondered at the image of Toby struggling to write—_he's such a good, natural writer. God, his life must be agony right now._

With a grunt Toby shoved the pad at David. David picked it up and read slowly through the mangled writing:

_Im 18. it's mine—get it for me. Use it don't let them go broke—_

_ david help me—get it and pay for this pls_

_ I cant do it alone I cant so do it help me pls_

_ god dam bastard wont say I broke them_

_ help me!_

When David looked back at Toby his eyes were wet but his respect for the boy had grown. He folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket, nodding.

"I'll see about getting it transferred into your name, and see how we get it freed up to use for your bills. Don't worry. I'll help, and we'll make it happen. All right, T?" David said levelly.

Toby sighed in relief. He nodded his head and tried to form "thank you" with his lips. He managed a strangled "a" sound before giving up. He tried to put gratitude in his eyes and found he'd become so used to struggle and anger he couldn't do it. He wrote Thank You on the pad and David smiled.

"I know. I love you, bro—I really do. I need you to concentrate on getting okay, though. Do that? Good. I'm gonna go start this stuff. You need anything?"

Toby thought, then wrote _radio_. David smiled.

"Okay. I'll even come down some days and listen to the Yankees with you. Be good, Toby. I love you," David said, kissing Toby's forehead very lightly, smiling down at him, and leaving. Toby watched him go, tried to smile, and settled for feeling happier than he'd felt in days. _Thank god someone will help_, he thought.

Toby was sitting in CJ's doctor's office with his dizzy head in his hands, elbows braced on his knees. Beside him, CJ flipped idly through a magazine. Toby had been unwilling to talk much, and CJ felt it best to let him initiate any discussions. For her part, she was so tired she felt nailed to her seat with fatigue.

"CJ?"

She looked up and smiled at Rebecca Shindler, a friend from Berkeley who was a practicing GP but had specialized in internal medicine. "Hey, Becky, howya doing?"

They shook hands, CJ hearing shots fire as her back unfolded itself as she stood. "I'm okay? What's up with you? Or, with whoever? Your call was cryptic."

"Well—hey, Toby. Hey, get up," she said, tugging at his sleeve. Toby uncovered his face, looked up, and stood. Rebecca noted his apprehensive look as he got to his feet. "This is the man," CJ said.

Toby nodded and shook hands. He fought to stay standing, and Rebecca noted that, as well as the exhaustion on his face, a small nervous tic at the edge of his upper lip, and the unfocused eyes. "Hi," he said shortly.

"Hello. Why don't you both come on back?"

She led them to her exam room, gesturing CJ to sit in a corner chair. She had Toby sit on the exam table and thought she detected a pleased sigh as he sat. As she bustled to take his blood pressure, she chatted and tried to pick up clues.

"CJ, I hope everything's been going well, you look good on TV lately."

"It's all fine—busy. Major summit coming up."

"And you, Mr. Ziegler, you must be hopping over in communications?" she asked as she shoved up his sleeve to affix the cuff.

"Oh—oh, yeah," he responded, feeling a little slow.

"CJ's told me about you, that's how I know what you do."

"She has?"

"Oh yeah. You and Sam Seaborn, and Josh—Lyman? Lyman, right?"

"Yeah, Josh," CJ said. She too was trying to observe Toby closely.

Toby was focusing intently on the feel of the cuff on his arm. He thought he could feel the blood backing up into his head. He could feel the beginning of vertigo begin to run through him and closed his eyes.

"Ah. Okay, a little high," Rebecca said with a neutral voice. What she had gotten as a read was close to alarming. _170 over 100 isn't right, not even for a DC political junkie_, she thought. "Mr. Ziegler, why don't you lay back a moment?"

Toby hesitated. "Ah, maybe not a good idea."

"Why?"

"I'm feeling a little dizzy."

Rebecca smiled and gave him a little backward push. "The perfect time to lie down. Go on."

Toby allowed himself to be persuaded and felt better on his back. He obediently relaxed, somewhat soothed by the overhead lights, as the doctor took his temperature. When she shone a light into his eyes, however, he shut them hard.

"Mr. Ziegler? Can you open your eyes?"

"The light hurts."

"I understand. I'll try to be fast, but I need to take a look, all right?"

Toby felt a little scolded. He had never liked the light pen doctors looked into eyes with—it always left long-lasting afterimages of hazy faces, and it tended to give him a headache. But he opened his eyes with a sigh.

His left eye only teared up as she looked, but his right eye teared up quickly and Toby felt his world tilt sharply. "Ah, ah, I need to—"

With a lurch he swung his legs off the table and grabbed at the sink nearby, a hard wave of nausea hitting him. CJ stood to help him, holding his sides and trying to steady him as his stomach flipped, defiantly sending gastric fluids up for Toby to hack out. He retched briefly, spitting out as often as he could sour bile and mucus. Pain slammed into his head and even with his eyes closed he felt he was spinning.

He wasn't sure how he managed to stay standing, but after a minute or two his stomach settled, the dizziness dissipated to a headache, and he pushed away from the sink. His legs were rubbery and weak, and before he felt he could walk he thought he'd just lean against the sink. He took a paper towel pressed into his hand and mechanically wiped his lips. CJ still stood next to him but had one hand on his back. She felt as nervous and tense as Toby looked.

"I—I'm sorry," he said at last, breaking silence. Rebecca nodded, and took his arm.

"Why don't you sit?" she said, guiding him with CJ's help to a low chair before a table. He sat heavily and gratefully accepted a cup of water from the doctor.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome. Tell me, when did the vertigo start?"

"Couple of days ago."

"Was it this bad then?"

"No."

"And when did you last eat?"

Toby looked up at that question. He had begun to answer when he realized he didn't actually recall his last meal. He supposed he had to have eaten, but couldn't remember when he had last had any food. "Uh—I don't actually remember."

"Toby, you haven't eaten? In how long?" CJ asked, appalled. A look from Rebecca quieted her.

"Have you had anything today, or last night?"

"No."

"Have you always had high blood pressure?"

"I do?"

"Right now, yes. Are you on any medication? For anything?" Rebecca asked, though she was certain he'd say no.

"Uh—I take Allegra sometimes. Allergies."

"Okay. Have you taken them recently?"

"I don't—I don't think so. I don't remember."

"All right. Mr. Ziegler, I want you to lie down again, and just not move. I'll even dim the lights. I'm going to give you a bottle of water and I want you to just lie there and take small sips. I need to check on a couple of things, then I want to talk to CJ, then you. I'll send in a nurse to draw blood. Can you do that?"

Toby nodded, wanting more than anything to lie down and possibly fall asleep. "Yes."

"Okay. Here—I'll help you. All right—okay, just lay back," Rebecca said as Toby settled himself nervously back down on the table. He relaxed when he realized he wasn't going to vomit again, and gratefully took the bottle of water. He sipped almost contentedly from the sport cap as Rebecca ushered CJ out.

"All right, what the hell's happened to him?" CJ began.

"You tell me! Why's he stopped eating? His blood pressure's way high, he's dehydrated, experiencing vertigo, and I can't tell when he might have eaten last. I'm afraid I'm also gonna find something up with his blood, maybe low iron, maybe he's diabetic—what's been going on with him lately?" Rebecca exploded.

The outburst stopped CJ cold. "I—he hasn't had an easy week. Last week he buried his mother, and I don't think he's had time to really cope. He seemed to be functioning mostly okay, trying to keep busy. He took a couple of days off though—he was supposed to come back to work today."

"He's not gonna," the doctor replied.

"I can tell. Look—I can ask around and see if anyone at work's noticed anything, you know, before he took the time. Do you think he could have caught something?"

Rebecca sighed. "I don't know. Honestly? He might be experiencing something more emotional and mental than physical—it's just making him ill. Are you pretty tight with him?"

CJ nodded. She was growing worried now, worried she'd not read signals from Toby right. "He's my closest friend, the goof."

"If he's just lost a parent, he could need more time, to grieve, to adjust and get himself together. Especially if he was close to her, or if he'd lost contact and is feeling bad. But I'm gonna run as full a screen on him as I can. If he needs mental care, I can help and refer him, but he's not going anywhere but home until he's had fluids and some kind of nutrients. And for god's sake, he has _got_ to get some sleep! He's falling all over himself!"

"Okay, look—can you run your tests now? Please? Trying to get him back here will be like roping a bull, so the more you can do now the better. I'll take him back home, and try to get a couple of people to make sure he stays there and rests. And yep, he'll probably need drugs to sleep. Do you—should I look for a shrink for him? Because you know, the White House Communications Director can't just let his fingers do the walking—we have to make some calls."

Rebecca tugged CJ's arm and they walked toward the front of the office. "Do that. But let me take some blood and run some tests, and he should have a vision screen soon. We'll get all the fluids we can so he can go home. Hey, Carol—"

CJ stood in a slight daze as Rebecca got a nurse to take blood from Toby and schedule a return appointment. She felt as if Toby had managed to collapse all his past year's stress into one single week, culminating in his body failing finally. Though CJ wasn't overly concerned about Toby's physical health, she was deeply concerned about his mental condition. What they'd all gone through as Josh suffered after the shooting was something she did not want repeated. CJ was also certain she did not want to see her dear and old friend Toby Ziegler in anguish or pain. _So what's doing, Claudia Jean? Just take him home—maybe my home? And shoot him so full of drugs he won't wake for days,_ she thought acidly.

Rebecca and CJ went back into the room where Toby was alone, dozing a little, the bottle of water nearly empty. He opened his eyes, raising his right arm a bit. "They took blood," he said quietly, a smile on his face.

"I know," CJ answered. He looked very content and sleepy, but CJ wondered if he wasn't a scream away from mania. She knew he normally slept well, ate badly, worked out little except for basketball, and prided himself on his workhorse stamina. To see Toby not only tired but also weak made her feel frightened for him. "You're coming home with me," she finished. Toby opened one eye.

"CJ, this isn't the time…"

"Shut up. Rebecca's going to run some tests, and schedule you a return. You're also going to an eye doctor. And I swear to God if you don't eat and sleep today until you feel better I'm going to personally sic Carol and Ginger on you."

Toby laughed slightly. "Fair enough. Hey, doctor," he asked, shifting to see Rebecca better, "do you think I could get some sleeping pills? I really don't seem to be able to sleep well."

_Now I'm really worried_, CJ thought as Rebecca talked to Toby. _He doesn't even take aspirin…pie, yes, but no drugs. Damn him._

In ten minutes Toby was scheduled, prescribed, and somewhat hydrated. CJ swore to get food into him, to keep him home for a couple of days, and to make sure he slept. She thought Rebecca smiled when CJ said he'd sleep fine in her apartment.

"Thank you very much for seeing us so quick," CJ said meaningfully. Toby nodded and echoed the sentiment.

"Sorry for the trouble," he said, shaking her hand and forcing a smile.

"You've got good insurance, Toby. Take care of yourself and I'll call when we know something."

Toby did feel better on the drive back, good enough to ask to be taken to his office.

"Pigs will fly first," CJ hollered at an intersection. Toby winced.

"Okay. Can I at least go to my apartment?"

"No."

"Okay."

CJ helped Toby negotiate the stairs to her apartment, a lengthy process as he was almost asleep when they arrived. She leaned him against the wall as she opened the door and he stumbled in blindly, collapsing on the closest chair he found.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his head lolling back on the chair. She smiled at him.

"It's only a problem if you make it one, Pokey. I need to call around and get some stuff taken care of for today," CJ said, heading for her kitchen phone.

"I just need some sleep," Toby said, voice colored with exhaustion. CJ came back out with the cordless phone in her hand.

"I know. Rest there a moment until I make some calls."

CJ went to change as she phoned work. She called Sam first, to let the deputy communications director know Toby's condition. Sam reacted well, all things considered.

"Should I arrange for all his meetings tomorrow to be covered?" Sam asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes. At least for tomorrow. Can you get Josh or Larry and Ed to help out? He's falling to pieces, Sam. He shouldn't be back at work for like a week or something."

Sam whistled. "Man. I wouldn't wanna be the person trying to keep him down."

CJ frowned as she pulled on a sweatshirt. "Better. Well, Sam, I _am_ just that person. And I need to get the rest of the day off myself. Josh been doing the briefings?"

"Yeah—and he hasn't screwed up yet. I think you'll be fine. He kinda likes it."

A smile touched her lips. "Of course. Thank him for me. I'll call him anyway, and Leo. If anyone asks, he's got a bad flu bug. Don't let anyone know he's just burned out, okay?"

"Sure. If you need anything—"

"Yeah. Thanks. See you soon."

Josh Lyman's response was more subdued and concerned. "CJ, do you think he's really having a bad reaction to the news? I mean, it can't be good, but I don't think he had much of a relationship with his mother recently."

CJ understood Josh's concern—only recently Josh himself had been seeing a psychologist. She peeked around the doorway and ascertained Toby was still asleep before answering. "Josh, I don't know. He's not well, he's tired, and he's been having bad dreams. Something's up, but I don't know what. We may know more after the blood tests come in."

"Do you want us to drop by, me and Sam? Keep him amused or something?"

"I'll ask him, but I really think he just needs to sleep and eat. What's he like anyway, besides pie?"

Josh laughed. "I dunno… burgers. Shakes."

"Bleh. I'll have to fake it."

Josh lowered his voice slightly. "Hey CJ, is it cool, him being there? I mean, I'd be happy to have him at my place."

"It's fine. I can usually bully him into things, so maybe it's best he's here. Besides, you're a dirty boy, ew," CJ said, smiling at Josh's laughter.

"Hey, I wear clean underwear at least twice a week. But seriously—if you need anything, call me. I'd like to see how he's doing."

"Thanks, Josh. And thanks for doing the briefings. Don't get too comfy."

She hung up and came out to the living room where Toby had collapsed. He was half-asleep, eyes closed and face relaxed. Toby opened his eyes as CJ came up.

"Hi."

"Hi," she answered. "You ready for bed?"

Toby struggled to lift his head. He felt pleasantly tired, not sore and hurt, and in desperate need of sleep. "I can really sleep at my place, you know."

"Bullshit. Let me help you up, you're gonna crash in my bed. I'll run over to your place and grab some clothes, but for now, Toby-boy—it's boxers and t-shirt for you."

Toby made little protest as CJ helped him to her room, sat him on the edge of the bed, and helped him remove his jacket and tie. He managed his pants and shirt, falling backward onto the bed when done. He thought he'd never felt so tired before.

CJ pulled the other half of her comforter over him. Toby was absurdly grateful and smiled a little. "Good, Toby?"

"Yes. Thank you." He closed his eyes with a sigh. CJ was leaving the room when he heard his voice, gentle and quiet.

"What?" she asked.

"Love you," he said softly, and she left to the sound of a contented sigh and deep breathing.

Across town, CJ let herself into Toby's apartment and immediately knocked over a stack of book near the door. She noticed they were from a library and smiled. She never knew anyone, with the possible exception of the President, who read as much as Toby.

A search of his bedroom netted a couple of shirts and some jeans, as well as boxers and socks. She tossed them in a gym bag on his floor and added his razor and toothbrush. _How long he gonna be there, girl?_ She asked herself, and smiled. She looked at his bedside table for anything he might want and noticed he'd been reading _The Grapes of Wrath_. She added it to his bag and went back out, collaring his unopened mail on the way out the door.

Toby slept soundly for a few hours, long enough for CJ to work out, shower, and start dinner. His sleep was dreamless for the first time in days and though he couldn't appreciate that fully, he felt rested when he woke up.

He tried to get up from the bed, but managed only to roll on his side. Toby felt very weak, very shaky, as if his muscles refused to wake up and support his body. He tried a couple of times to swing his legs to the floor, and failing that, he croaked out a hoarse call.

CJ heard the second call, and went into her bedroom, drying her hands on a towel. "Hey, you're alive! How ya doing?" she asked as she pulled a chair up to the bed. Toby frowned.

"I can't get up," he said, and frowned deeper when CJ laughed.

"I know. It's kind of wonderful. A beached Toby. A full-stop Toby. The wonder-boy speechwriter perpetual motion machine ground to a halt. It's fabulous."

"It's not," he answered, trying to be angry but failing.

"Oh, Toby, I'm kidding. But sleep is good for you now. And food will be too. You hungry?"

Toby considered his body. "Yeah."

"Okay."

"Will you help me up?"

"Yeah."

Together they got him back into the living room and deposited on the couch. She propped his feet up on the coffee table and drew a blanket over him. Toby felt himself a little sheepish at his weakness.

"I'm sorry," he said, a guilty look on his face.

"Why? For overworking until you collapse? For not letting anyone know you needed help? Ah, for that, I accept an apology. Anything else—can it, mister."

Toby smiled, a real smile that touched his chocolate eyes. "All right. Thanks, though."

"Good."

CJ whirred up a strawberry smoothy for Toby and brought it out on a tray with her own chicken salad sandwich. Toby eyed her meal with relish.

"Sorry, Charlie. Smoothy for you."

He found to his astonishment that he could barely hold the drink in his hands. CJ sat next to him and held the glass as he sipped from a straw. The drink was fantastically refreshing, and Toby's stomach began to wake and stretch.

"That's good," he said halfway through.

"I'm glad. If you're good I'll give you real food later. How long had it been since you'd eaten, Toby?" CJ asked. Toby considered briefly.

"I think, except for coffee or soda, maybe a couple of days. I don't think I even gave it much thought. Maybe I had a bagel or something."

CJ felt more fear than she showed. _What the hell was he thinking? Or, not thinking? How could he have eaten so little?_ "Well, did you even _feel_ hungry, Toby?"

"I don't know. You know, sometimes you're just not very hungry."

"Toby, you eat all the time! Pie, fries, whatever… it doesn't make sense you wouldn't remember to eat."

"I didn't," he said, a little petulantly as he finished his drink. "I just didn't. Other stuff on my mind."

"Like what?"

"Like writing the next speech, reading polls, negotiating with boneheaded members of Congress and oh yeah, my mother dying. It was a busy week, CJ," he said, and she felt the rebuke. She knew it was deserved, but knew if she let it go now he'd shut down about it for good, or for a good long time. CJ didn't want this to explode into something like Josh's nightmarish moments of reliving the shooting. Toby's sense of self-control was so immense that when he did implode it rocked him deeply, and he resisted going down that path at any cost. It meant he was strictly disciplined, fanatically punctual, and detail-oriented to the last dot of the last i. It also meant he didn't have any internal mechanism for dealing with himself when he couldn't cope with something. When Toby needed to crash and burn, CJ knew from experience with him, he denied he was going down until it was too late and then the mess was terrific.

"Toby, I get it. I know. We've all had to do that, most of us after the shooting. I know you hate talking about this stuff. So, do it with me, or do it with Stanley. But do it, and soon, because the Communications Director can't be falling down the White House stairs!"

She got up and went into the kitchen to put the glass in the dishwasher. She remained longer than strictly necessary to calm down. It wasn't just his stubborn nature—CJ cared more than a little about Toby and their shared history meant she also knew a little about his family and life before Jed Bartlet.

CJ had been a campaign intern for a New Jersey candidate for Congress when she first met the mercurial Toby Ziegler. He was a CCNY grad in communications and English who had been trying to get into higher level political campaigning but his string of failures haunted him. He just hadn't found a fit.

CJ was working on her umpteenth press release—she regretted letting them know she had any writing talent at all—when a crash outside her campaign office cubbyhole made her look up. A gruff voice announced its intent to throw an intern out a window if he didn't find the person who wrote a press release. CJ grimaced—she'd written all of them for the last month. _Who the hell could that be?_ she wondered, rising to peek out.

A youngish, harried-looking man with thinning dark hair and piercing dark eyes was standing amidst three frightened interns. Though not the oldest, CJ's experience with several campaigns had people looking up to her and a wave of relief rushed over the group as she approached. "What's up?"

"I'm looking for the person who wrote this release!" the man barked. CJ noted that he seemed excited and filled with nervous energy.

"And who are you?"

"Toby Ziegler, who are you?" He seemed a bit thrown at CJ's calm.

"I'm the one who wrote that piece."

Toby consulted the paper in his hand. "You're CJ Cregg?"

CJ nodded. She thought, _he's thinking I was supposed to be a guy. Of course._

"Oh. All right. Can I talk to you?"

"Sure."

Toby turned out to be headhunting for his own campaign, another Congressional race in Maryland. He'd driven up to Jersey to find the person who'd been writing the releases for the campaign CJ worked on. Toby frankly admitted he loved her style and wanted her to defect.

"We can probably pay at least what you're making now," he finished, and frowned when CJ laughed. "What?"

"I'm not getting paid. So, if that was the offer I'd have to say no."

"You—you're an intern? Jesus Christ! And you can already spin stuff like that. Jesus. Well—well, we could at least pay you," he tried again. CJ shook her head.

"I'm here for the duration. Then it's back to California to finish school up."

"You're still in _school_? Oh man. Why is my guy wasting his time with pros? He could hire some work-study!"

"Well, I'm not a work-study, but by the time my career's done I'll be owning the press your guy needs. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Ziegler. It was—interesting."

"It's Toby. Look—I'm sorry I got off on the wrong foot. You're really very good. And frankly—you're better than our press person right now. I just write the speeches. I appreciate your loyalty, but I hope we can at least stay in touch—I think you could be really great at this one day—press secretary Cregg, no doubt." Toby rose and held out his hand. CJ shook it and was surprised by the brilliant smile that lit up Toby's face. _Wow, he even has dimples_, CJ thought, somewhat pointlessly.

"I'll give you my address in California. I'd be interested to see where _you_ end up, Toby." CJ scribbled her name and address on the back of a campaign card, and after a moment added her local and California phone numbers. "We'll talk press releases," she said with a smile. Toby took the card and stuffed it in his pocket. After a moment of fishing he drew out his card and handed it over. CJ read: "Tobias Z. Ziegler. Communications and Press. Drake for Senate."

"Well, here's to luck for both of us. Give me a call when you're in California."

"Oh, I will. Thank you again, CJ."

CJ walked him to the door of the campaign office, where he paused. "Can I ask you something?"

"Might as well, since we're tight now."

"What's the CJ stand for?"

"Claudia Jean," she answered. He smiled.

"Nice. The Z is for Zachary."

"Mmm, not so nice. See you, Toby."

"Okay."

More than a decade later, CJ and Toby were sharing a bed as night fell. She had helped Toby change, smiling a little at his slight discomfort—"Oh for god's sake, Toby, it's nothing I haven't seen!"—and making sure he'd taken his medication. Toby had managed to down two smoothies, his appetite slowly returning, and they'd watched a little TV before CJ declared it bedtime.

Toby felt remarkably better, snuggled under a fluffy down comforter, than he'd felt in a week. When he'd decided he would allow himself to be cared for, his body had relaxed and it seemed he was trying to heal physically. He wasn't at all sure how he'd feel in the morning, but for once Toby allowed himself the luxury of pushing worry aside.

CJ slid into the bed wearing her short satin gown and sighed. She felt more emotionally burned out than physically tired, and pulled the blankets up to her chin. "How you feeling, Toby?" she asked.

"Better," he said shortly. "You?"

CJ smiled at that. "Ever the gentleman. I'm good. Be better tomorrow."

"Yeah. Good night."

"Night."

CJ had almost fallen asleep, lulled by Toby's progressively deeper breathing, when she felt his body jerk slightly. She opened her eyes and looked over at his sleeping form.

Toby was half-turned away from her, eyes flicking back and forth under the closed lids. His face remained relatively impassive, but she could see his brows tightening, tension lines appearing on his forehead as he dreamed. As she watched, his mouth opened and moved, as if he were speaking to someone. She listened carefully but couldn't make out the words.

CJ continued to watch, waiting for Toby's dream to subside, when a short gasp escaped his lips, his eyes flew open, and Toby tried to push himself up. He grunted with the effort, arms sliding on the sheets, and collapsed back into the pillows, fully awake and sweating. CJ had caught a sharp "no" from Toby before he'd fallen back.

"Toby? Hey, you all right?" CJ asked quietly, trying not to spook an already scared Toby.

Toby turned dark eyes filled with cloudy doubt to her. When he focused and recognized CJ, the eyes cleared a little. He felt the coldness of his body and instantly knew he was sweating into CJ's sheets—why he felt it was important to note that Toby would have been hard pressed to tell. He kept his gaze on her.

She reached one hand out and touched his arm, feeling the clamminess and trembling. His eyes darted down to look, then refocused on her. "Toby, it's okay. It's okay," she said, voice automatically soothing.

With an effort, Toby relaxed and sighed. "All right. Okay. Just a night bear."

CJ thought she'd heard wrong. "Nightmare?"

Toby shook his head slightly. "Night bear. Comes back to haunt you from your day. John Steinbeck." His breathing slowed and his dream began to fade as dreams do, muddying meaning until Toby wasn't quite sure he'd had a dream—just the unease and fear indicated anything had been happening at Toby's Unconscious Mind and Grill.

"John Steinbeck. Ah. So you are all right. What was the deal? You wanna tell me?"

"I—not now. Maybe. Bad dreams. Mother, work, dying—and so much dark. Darkness everywhere. Something threatening. I—I don't know," Toby said, shaking his head. "I'm sweating, sorry," he added.

"Don't stress it. I thought the pills would help you sleep?"

"Did for a while. I'll just—maybe I should read or something. Puts me to sleep."

"Oh—I brought your bedside reading—speaking of Steinbeck," CJ said. She put out her hand and found the volume on her bedside table. "_Grapes of Wrath_."

Toby smiled. "Oh yeah. It's good for images—and pretty good writing too. Lemme," he said, holding out his hand. He flipped the book opened to a dogeared page as CJ turned on the lamp.

The words swam dizzily in front of him and Toby swallowed, shutting the book. "Whoa. Can't read like that."

"Making you sick?"

Toby nodded with regret. "Yeah. Or, it would. Damn. I could take another pill…"

"No. Look, why don't I read to you? It'll put you to sleep, and god knows it'll put me to sleep. He's not my favorite but I can pick out a nice section where he talks about yams or something." She smiled as Toby frowned.

"Heathen. But hey—if you could read just a little, it could scare the night bear off," he said with yearning.

"Is it-?"

"No, _night bear_'s from _Travels with Charley_. I'd love you if you'd read Chapter 12 for me. Just a little? I'd bring you coffee for weeks…" Toby halted. He hated himself at that moment—hated his fawning weakness and fear. He had no idea how to help himself, no clue as to what would make his nightmares cease. CJ would do everything she could for him, he knew, but he didn't want to trade on that. It just didn't feel right to him—

"_Highway 66 is the main migrant road. 66—the long concrete path across the country, waving gently up and down on the map, from the Mississippi to Bakersfield—over the red lands and the gray lands, twisting up into the mountains, crossing the Divide and down in to the bright and terrible desert"_

Toby listened carefully as CJ began, cutting his self-loathing off—_the bright and terrible desert_, he thought. _It is just that. And lonely and frightening, and god, I don't want to be in my head anymore!_

"…_all of these people are in flight, and they come into 66 from tributary side roads, from the wagon tracks and the rutted country roads. 66 is the mother road, the road of flight."_

His headache subsiding, Toby allowed the words to wash over him, the litany of places

"_Hydro, Elk City, and Texola…"_

and directions. _Could use a vacation, mother, from you, if you don't mind so much,_ Toby mused. He flicked his eyes over to CJ reading, glasses perched on her nose. Waves of real and deep affection came over him and he smiled a small and wise smile.

"There's California just over the river, and a pretty town to start it. Needles, on the river. But the river is a stranger in this place."

_**We met again in California. Los Angeles. Stranger in her strange land._ Toby's eyes were closing and CJ's voice was moving away slowly.

"Listen to the motor. Listen to the wheels. Listen with your ears and with your hands on the steering wheel; listen with the palm of your hand on the gear-shift lever; listen with your feet on the floor boards. Listen to the pounding old jalopy with all your senses; for a change of tone, a variation of rhythm may mean—a week here?"

**I'm not going to listen to my head, I'm not, I'm not, the night bears aren't really there and I'm not a bad bad guy, I'm really not…**

"…_California's a big state. It ain't that big. The whole United States ain't that big. It ain't that big. It ain't big enough. There ain't room enough for you an' me, for your kind an' my kind…"_

Toby shifted, relaxing further into his side of the bed. He felt calmness stealing over him gradually, induced my CJ's steady reading.

"People in flight along 66. And the concrete road shone like a mirror under the sun, and in the distance the heat made it seem that there were pools of water in the road."

_**I'll deal with it all later_, Toby thought as he drifted into sleep, steady images and sounds following him as if he were on a road as a traveler, weighted down with his life. _Later, later.**_

"_Where does the courage come from? Where does the terrible faith come from?"_

_**I couldn't mourn you, mom, I didn't know how, didn't even know what I should be doing in a Catholic service, I'm sorry—no, later, later, not now.**_

"_But how can such courage be, and such faith in their own species? Very few things would teach such faith._

"_The people in flight from the terror behind—strange things happen to them, some bitterly cruel and some so beautiful that faith is refired forever."_


	2. Chapter 2

"The sound of it was like a grace"- Story 2 of the series _Terrible Faith_.

Disclaimers: Not mine. Nor are the excerpts from authors. Due respect to the creative forces! Toby-centric, with a good deal of Josh. _Filter1970_

_The thing that gave me the mos' trouble was, it didn' make no sense. You don't look for no sense when lightnin' kills a cow or it comes up a flood. That's jus' the way things is. –_Tom Joad

With darting and apprehensive eyes, Toby Ziegler walked into his office for the first time in nearly a week, carrying a cold coffee like a shield and not acknowledging the choruses of "Hey, welcome back!" calls that greeted him. He knew they would all allow him some room, and certainly no one expected their surly boss to have transformed after the longest vacation he'd had in years. _Forced vacation_, Toby thought wearily. He closed his door behind him, tossed his bag on the sofa, and collapsed next to it. Closing his eyes, Toby allowed himself to relax physically, the better to allow his mind to race.

After burying his mother more than a week and a half ago, Toby had found himself unable to concentrate, subject to severe vertigo, and without any appetite. He'd struggled gamely along, ignoring his body's distress signals until he was crippled by nightmares and vertigo of a nauseous caliber. As usual, he'd called CJ—she'd dragged him in to her doctor, who'd determined Toby's iron levels were low, he was dehydrated, and his blood pressure was rather high. Some rest, medication, and food had set him mostly back on track, and he'd convinced CJ that he could come to work for a half-day. She'd brought him in and watched him make his way to his office, dubious.

When he'd been sidelined by the grief and his exhausted body's reaction to it, Toby had been shocked. He'd never given much thought to his body, priding himself on his stamina but otherwise not doing much to maintain it. It was as much a matter of convincing himself he'd be fine as it was taking medicine, eating well, and sleeping. He'd wake in CJ's huge bed with a start at night, worried he wouldn't be able to speak or move, images of his young adulthood paralyzing accident fading back into the nightmare. She'd been remarkably kind and patient, and part of Toby knew he'd come back for a half-day too early because he couldn't watch CJ worry anymore.

A faint tap on his door made him sit up a little. "Come in."

Josh Lyman opened the door slowly and peeked in, a smile gathering force on his face as he saw Toby on the sofa. "Hey, Toby," he said, his voice more gentle than usual. Toby smiled slightly in return.

"Josh—come in."

The Deputy Chief of Staff moved into the room and shut the door again, leaning against it in the remarkably boyish manner he had. "It's good to see you back," Josh commented, his smile threatening to crack his face. Toby noted Josh's dimples were quite apparent, then wondered why he'd noticed.

"It's nice to be seen," Toby answered, standing and taking off his coat. Josh observed with hidden apprehension the ill-fitting suit jacket. _My god, he's lost some serious weight_, Josh thought. Toby tossed his coat on the sofa and sat back down. "You gonna sit?"

Josh plopped into a chair opposite Toby and leaned forward. "How you feeling?"

"Ah. Well, I certainly feel better than I did a week ago. I'm doing the good stuff, you know. Eating, sleeping, taking the pills. You?" Toby smiled at Josh.

"I'm good, man," Josh said with a laugh. "I kinda liked doing the briefings. CJ's worried about what I screwed up, but who really needed Canada anyhow?"

Toby laughed, surprising himself. He liked Josh, liked his political savvy mixed with an irrepressible boyish glee. Josh and Sam Seaborn made a good team, though Toby didn't think anyone could be more boyish than Sam.

"I'm sure she'll fix it. And if not—well, most of us are lawyers anyway. Hey—Josh, did Leo or the President say anything about my, uh, you know, situation while I was gone?"

Josh considered, then lied. "Nah. Leo asked where you were staying, that's all." The truth was that either Josh or Sam would get a phone call twice a day asking for updates on Toby. The calls had made Sam a nervous wreck, and Josh had tried to call Leo and give an update before being called. He wondered if Toby knew he was lying.

Toby did. He thought about calling Josh on the bad bluff, then reconsidered. He knew Josh wouldn't lie without a reason, and wasn't ready to ask. "Thanks. How's Sam holding up? I felt guilty leaving him all the work."

Josh waved his hand. "Ah, you know Sam. He's okay. A little frazzled, but he's fine."

"Good. Have either of you slept lately? It does wonders for you," Toby said with a smile.

Laughing, Josh leaned back in his chair. "That's what I hear… you must have gotten in some good sack time—um, yeah."

Toby noticed Josh's eyes had flickered up and above his head, and turned to look. Sam Seaborn was standing and gesturing to Josh through the glass. He stopped when he saw that Toby had noticed him and smiled sheepishly. Opening the door, he stepped in and stood awkwardly.

"Hi Sam," Toby said shortly. He took in his deputy's appearance and thought _wow, he looks exhausted. And worried._

"Toby, how ya doing? Good to see you back." Sam was grinning, but looked tightly wound.

"I'm okay. Thanks. And thanks for all the work, really," Toby said. Sam sat on the edge of Toby's desk and carefully observed his boss.

"Not a problem. You doing a half-day?"

"Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I still had an office."

Sam gasped in mock hurt. "Toby! I'd never let them promote me while you were this side of the grave. You should know that."

"He was deciding which font to get on the replacement door sign," Josh cut in with a grin. Toby laughed.

"Yeah, I bet. Look—really, I appreciate you both just, well, doing your jobs so well. I mean, I wouldn't have been able to take any time off if I didn't have you two and CJ to cover my ass. Thank you."

The sincerity in Toby's voice made Josh blush and Sam suddenly found his shoes intensely fascinating. They both muttered that it wasn't anything, and Toby felt bad about making them self-conscious.

"But—you're slacking now, so get out of here so I can work," Toby growled, standing and opening the door. Sam scooted off the desk and smiled, welcoming Toby back again as he led the way out. Josh moved toward the door and stopped in the doorway, looking back.

"Toby—promise me something."

"What?"

"Talk to me before you leave, okay? Please?"

Toby was surprised. "Sure. Any particular reason?"

"I just—it's—look, just come find me and I'll buy you a coke or something. Please?" The note of entreaty in Josh's voice was foreign to Toby and he nodded his head, bewildered.

"Yes. Now go."

Three hours later, stomach growling, Toby went into CJ's office and found her missing. He turned to ask Carol where she was and heard a faint thump and "shit". Turning slowly, he saw CJ coming out from under her desk, rubbing her head and holding her glasses. "CJ? Should I ask?"

"I lost a kiss," she answered as she sat back in her chair. Toby walked closer.

"A kiss?"

CJ held up a silver tidbit with a white flag attached. "It was my last one."

Toby sat in the chair opposite CJ. "Oh. Okay, at least that makes sense now."

"Whatever. Bumped my head. How are you?" CJ asked as she unwrapped the chocolate and popped it in her mouth.

Toby spread his hands. "I'm good. Getting tired of being asked how I am, but I'm good. You?"

"Tired and I have a headache. Oh hey—it's like 615. You ready for home?"

"That's what I came to tell you. Josh wants to talk to me before I leave. I was going to get a ride. He really—I think he wants to say something to me."

CJ thought for a moment. "Hm. Probably declaring love. You two gonna get food?"

"I dunno, probably. Just thought I'd let you know. Besides, I should probably be getting back to my place. I can have him drop me or take a cab."

"All right. Maybe he'll have enlightenment or something. Hey, did you see Sam?"

"Of course."

"I think he took you being ill badly. He seemed kinda shaken when I saw him." CJ saw Toby falter a moment. "Could be he's tired," she added kindly.

"Yeah. He looks it. Do you—well, I'll talk to him. I didn't notice it." Toby was thinking hard about Sam's appearance now—had Sam been edgy?

"Okay. He called once or twice a day to check on you, like Josh did, you know."

"Yeah. I'll—nevermind. I'll call you later, all right? Thanks for bringing me in, too. I really appreciate it."

Toby got up to go and paused when CJ called his name. He turned, hand on knob. "Yeah?"

"One more thing," CJ said. Toby closed the door and walked back to her desk as CJ came around it to meet him.

"Yes?"

CJ reached out and gently took Toby's hand, pulling him closer to her. He smiled a little shyly and squeezed her hand. "Take care and be good," she said, leaning into the scarce space between them and giving him a light kiss. He felt the warmth on his lips and grinned.

Without thinking he pulled her to him and embraced her tightly, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of love for her. CJ held him briefly, panicked a little at her emotions, then gave him a little shove. "G'wan, scram," she said with a smile. Toby gave her hand one last squeeze, smiled gently, and left. CJ shook her head and wished she had another Kiss.

Sam was sitting in his office staring at his laptop when Toby knocked. "Hey," Sam said, surprised.

"Hey. You should be home."

"You too," Sam answered.

"Josh and I are gonna hang out a bit, he wants to talk to me about something." Toby shrugged his shoulders to indicate he didn't know what Josh wanted.

"Oh. Oh, okay. I'm just gonna—I'm working on the Ag bill. Wanna try something, then I'll get home. You feeling all right?"

Toby tried to frown. "Don't stress about me. You got enough to worry about. Go sleep."

Sam smiled. "You ordering me home, chief?"

"Yes. Go home. Now." Toby thought he almost sounded convincing.

"In fifteen minutes. Tell Josh hi for me." Sam smiled again, then bent his head to his work. Toby shook his head and went to find Josh.

Donna Moss was trying to hustle Josh out the door when Toby appeared. "Toby, he's been here since 7am, make him go home so I can!"

Toby shrugged. "He told me to come find him."

"Joshua!"

Josh came back from a corner of his office where he'd been looking for a folder. "I found—hey, Toby! Donna, go home. Toby and I are gonna talk a bit."

Donna looked annoyed. "Fine. Well, now I know if I need him to move I call Toby, the Enforcer. That's what I'm gonna call you from now on, Toby—the Enforcer."

"If it makes you happy," Toby said.

"Schmuck," Donna said, going to get her coat.

"You mind with the Yiddish?" Toby said in amusement. Donna came back and poked Josh in the chest once.

"Ow," he said.

"A pair of schmucks. Don't forget to check your messages and your calendar. Good night," Donna said, leaving them speechless.

Toby came into Josh's office and sat, followed by Josh. "She likes to bring on the Yiddish," he sighed. Josh sat on his desk.

"Yeah. I've been pissing her off all day—I keep losing things that are right in front of me."

"Nothing new."

Josh nodded. "Yeah. Hey, look. Can I borrow you for like an hour or so? We can head down the street to Phelan's. I'll buy ya a coke—you're still on the drugs, right?"

Toby shrugged. "Yep. I'd like to get back to CJ's before 8 or so—can we be done by then?"

"Oh yeah. Lemme get my jacket."

Toby watched as Josh shrugged on his jacket. "So, what's this all about?"

Josh stuffed papers in his backpack. "What's what?" he asked, not looking.

"Why'd you want to talk with me? Not that I don't, you know, not that I'm not happy to see you again."

Josh turned and slung his backpack over one shoulder. "Because you're not happy to see me, to see anyone, and I'm willing to take bets you're not happy—period."

Toby was stunned into silence, a half-frown frozen on his face. Josh opened the door to leave and Toby mechanically stood. He preceded Josh out and was still processing Josh's statements as they walked out of the bullpen.

Sam Seaborn was standing in his kitchen, doing some yoga stretches while watching CNN and talking to CJ on the speakerphone after his nightmarishly long day at work. He couldn't bring himself to simply sit down and relax, feeling overly wound-up. He was discussing it with CJ when Toby's name came up.

"You know, in a way, CJ, and this is gonna sound bad, so let me just preface it—"

Across town CJ snorted back a laugh, swallowed her mouthful of sour cream and onion Pringles, and lowered the TV volume down. She was determined to lounge a little and wind down before Toby came back, and was wearing a camisole and jogging shorts. "It's perfectly okay to say something without editorializing, Sam," she said, swallowing.

"Hey, I'm a speechwriter, sue me," Sam replied, his voice fading a little as he bent forward to stretch his back.

"Stop the calisthenics, willya?" CJ hollered over the phone.

"Gotta be limber. Look, what I was going to say is that I kind of dreaded coming back and finding Toby. That sounds horrible, god. I mean, I didn't know what to expect, and I was worried about what he'd be like, or look like, you know?"

"Yes. I didn't let him know how often you guys called to check on him. I think it would've freaked him out a little."

Sam frowned. "I didn't think he'd care."

"Sam, you should know by now that he does care. He hates showing any of it, but he's more in love with you guys at work than himself, or his brother, probably. When Josh was shot I didn't think he'd recover from it—it really scared him. You're his little brothers—the kind he didn't get a chance to beat on." CJ added the last part with a laugh, aware that what she'd said would be disarming to Sam, who respected and looked up to Toby.

Coming out of a final backbend, Sam sighed and sat in a kitchen chair. "Wow. I thought the only person he was in love with was you."

The minute he said it, Sam realized it was a tactical and personal blunder. As much as almost everyone in the office knew Toby was in love with CJ, and the press secretary was amiable to the idea, no one was allowed to acknowledge this in a tacit unspoken command. Sam and Josh had discussed their friends' attraction for one another over drinks but had never allowed themselves to mention it to either CJ or Toby.

Sam stood reflexively in his kitchen, mouth half-open, trying to form a response to his own faux pas. He heard CJ stop breathing for a half-beat. "Oh, CJ, I mean—oh, I didn't—"

"Well, Sam, say what's on your mind, why don't you?" CJ finally managed. The concept was not entirely foreign to her mind—more than once she'd thought about life with Toby, and dismissed it as completely unworkable and impractical. She had hoped, however, that the staff would be able to keep the possibility of CJ and Toby getting together a kind of acknowledged secret—and CJ was surprised Sam had been so indiscreet.

Sam closed his eyes and covered them with one hand, sighing. "CJ, I'm so sorry. That was tactless. Please forget I said it, all right? And if you won't forget it, just slap me upside the head next time we meet, 'kay?" He was pleased to hear CJ laugh.

"All right. Don't get stuck in a pretzel pose or whatever. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. Have a good night."

CJ hung up the phone and grinned a little. She knew she had something to annoy Sam Seaborn with for a while, and she relished it. She also felt like—_well, CJ, like you wanna dance around the room singing "Can't help loving that man of mine"_. CJ giggled again at the image in her head, smiled thinking of Toby, and channel-surfed with a vengeance.

Toby was leaning back in his chair at a table in Phelan's, Josh across from him. The younger man was leaning on the table, Sam Adams in front of him, looking intently at Toby. They'd been there for an hour and Toby had said about four sentences.

Josh stopped speaking for a minute and considered his friend. He had been surprised at how easily Toby had agreed to come with him, and hoped it was a good sign. Of all the many people he'd known in his life, Toby was among the top three people who never acknowledged feelings and pain. Josh marveled at it sometimes, but right now he was desperately trying to get Toby to see it could be okay to hurt and be vulnerable. _I know what that feels like, and it hurts, and boy—Toby isn't going to like it when it finally hits him_, Josh thought before plunging on.

"You want another coke?" Josh asked. Toby shook his head, gesturing with his half-full glass. "All right. Oh, hey—I forgot to tell you. While you were gone Sam confiscated all your bouncy balls. No more whap, whap, whap on his wall."

Toby smiled, to Josh's surprise. "What—are you telling me I don't have any balls?" he asked with his deadpan understatement.

Josh gaped, then sputtered out laughter, spraying a light mist of beer toward Toby. Toby laughed himself, and he felt something stiff and distant shift inside.

"Toby—man, you gotta warn me when you're gonna do that! Sorry about the beer."

"S'okay. And hey, Josh—thanks."

Josh wiped his mouth with his hand. "For?"

"Just—for getting me out of my own head for a while. For worrying about me. And I hate admitting it, so don't remind me ever again, but I appreciate the concern. I know what you're trying to do."

Josh saw the seriousness on Toby's face. "Toby, I know how you're feeling. And I know what you might go through. I don't want to see you make the same mistakes about it that I did." He reflexively rubbed his chest over the bullet wound from Rosslyn. "Because it'll suck, Toby."

Toby sighed and sat back again. He raised his hand at a passing waiter. "Can I get a Scotch, double, no ice or water? Thanks."

"Toby, should you—"

"One drink won't knock me out. Two won't. And if three would, I'd order a bottle and walk home. Just drink with me for a while. I promise you I'll be okay, Josh."

Josh ordered another drink himself and looked at Toby closely. "Don't promise me that. Don't."

Toby stopped mid-drink and lowered his glass. "All right. Deal."

At eleven-fifteen CJ was startled out of sleep by a bang against her door, followed by a loud _shush_. She fell off the sofa with a squawk and scrambled up clutching her remote control. She listened carefully and heard whispering voices, then the sound of a key entering the lock and turning.

Josh half fell in, holding Toby up, both men a few points north of legally drunk. Josh caught himself on the hall table and had just turned the corner into the living room when he ran into CJ.

"Josh! What in the hell?" CJ hollered at him, her voice echoing in the room.

"CJ, please, I—can't you help me get him seated? Please, I'm gonna fall down soon."

They struggled with a semi-conscious Toby to the sofa and dropped him on it. He lay peacefully, head lolling on the arm of the sofa. Josh dropped into a chair and CJ stood in amazement.

"I—I don't even know where to start, Joshua! What the hell were you all doing?"

Josh gestured vaguely. "I took him out—for a coke, CJ, I swear. I talked for hours trying to see how he was doin', you know—worried about him. And then—he ordered a drink. I told him—but he said he hadn't even been taking his medication and stuff, and—"

"He said _what_? And you believed him? Joshua Lyman, I swear to god I will beat your ass."

"But he wasn't even affected by the drinks! Hell, I'm in worse shape. Oh, CJ, I really was trying, I swear." Josh trailed off, sheepish under CJ's glare.

CJ sighed and moved over to Toby, who was still only partially awake. She noted he was pale and sweaty. "What did you two do, run a marathon?"

"He—he and I took the train—then walked, at least kinda. I mostly carried him. I'm really tired."

"Just fall asleep there then. Josh, how much did he have to drink? Can you remember?"

"I—maybe four? I was a few beers ahead. What's up?" Josh was fading fast but aware of something in the air. He shucked his coat and flopped back into the chair.

"Damn. He's still been taking the pills, at least twice a day. One of them can kinda react badly with alcohol. He didn't throw up, did he?"

"No," came back the sleepy reply. CJ turned to see Josh almost asleep. She rose, threw a blanket from the recliner over him, and went to turn the taps on in her tub. For just a minute, she sat on the edge of the tub, half-tempted to laugh or scream. Then, grabbing a towel, she went out to the living room.

CJ was pleased Josh had passed out and was snoring, because she knew he'd be embarrassed for Toby. CJ shook Toby violently until his eyes opened. The deep brown eyes were unfocused and confused. He looked around until his eyes fell on CJ.

"Uh," he said weakly.

"Uh yourself. I need you to get up." CJ said as she worked Toby's coat and jacket off.

Toby's eyes closed again. "Can't." 

CJ pulled off his shoes and unbuckled his belt. She was tugging his pants down when he opened his eyes and swiveled his head around in shock.

"What-?"

"Well, if you don't want me to strip you down you better get up, Tobus. Come on, I'll help you."

Toby threw an arm over CJ and they struggled up together, Toby's pants falling down as they moved. He cursed a little as she helped him walk out of the pants and into the bedroom. She sat him down on her bed and helped him take off his shirt and tie, and pulled off his socks.

"CJ, I'm sorry, I am," Toby whispered. She nodded at him, aware he could barely keep his eyes open, and hauled him back up. They made it into the bathroom and Toby halted.

"Toby, come on, you're sweaty and you stink. Hop in the bath."

"I can't," he said softly. CJ looked and saw his eyes were wide and dazed. "I can't move, I'll fall," Toby finished.

"Jesus. Come on, I can help—" With CJ's help, shuffling along the floor, Toby managed to sit on the edge of the tub. He had to close his eyes to keep from vomiting or passing out hard.

"Can you lean back?" CJ asked. Toby shook his head slightly.

"I'll be sick."

"Oh god. Come on, look, I can help you. Lean into me." Sighing a little, and tossing decorum to the wind, CJ sat behind Toby on the tub edge and pulled him into her body. He was shivering and clammy and CJ felt her heart skip when she realized how sick Toby felt. With a little gasp, she slipped backward into the tub, pulling Toby in with her so she landed under him, back against the back of the tub. Water slopped over the edge and CJ had to laugh.

Toby's eyes had opened when they landed in the water. "Hey!"

CJ pulled him closer so his back was against her chest. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here, you'll be fine." She saw him turn his head and look up at her.

"CJ?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

They simply lay in the water for while, CJ humming to herself and singing under her breath. She enjoyed Toby's weight on her, even as she wondered if she'd ruin her camisole.

She had just taken up the washcloth and shower gel from the tub ledge and was carefully rubbing down Toby's shoulders when she began singing "God Bless the Child" out loud. Toby opened his eyes slightly at the music but didn't move, just listened.

CJ worked her way down Toby's arms with the cloth, enjoying the smell of the lavender soap and a clean Toby. She could feel his muscles jump under her hands and wondered how asleep he really was.

She had just commenced bathing his chest when he spoke. "That was like a grace," he whispered.

"Toby?"

He kept his face averted. "The sound of the song—the sound of it was like a grace. Beautiful."

CJ smiled at the back of Toby's head. "Thanks. Glad you're up, I'm soaked here."

"CJ, please don't move."

"Still dizzy? Josh said you'd had some drinks, and I—"

"No. I mean—" Toby turned with an effort to look at her. "—I mean, would you stay. With me. Please."

CJ was shocked at the vulnerability in Toby's eyes. She knew he was making an effort to even stay awake, could feel his exhaustion and illness in his body, but yet he was trying. _It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen_, she thought.

She touched his nose gently with the washcloth and smiled down at him. "Okay, Toby. I don't want you to drown in my tub."

"No, CJ—don't. Just be here. God, I—"

Gathering all his strength, Toby half-turned in the tub, so CJ had to shift to one side. Toby propped himself up on an elbow in the awkward space and reached out a shaking hand to CJ's shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything. But please—I think I need you to stay. I can't—I mean I won't cope. Please, CJ." Toby shifted his eyes away from hers, feeling the awkwardness of the moment. "And you know I love you. I—Jesus!"

Toby slid back down in exhaustion in the tub and CJ had just enough time to slide back under him. He ended up leaning against her with her arm around his shoulders. She smiled down at him, a little frightened.

"I—Toby, I don't know what to say. Are you okay? I mean—look. You need me here, I'll be here, sweets. Can you let it go for just the night? So I can clean you up and get you out of those stupid cow-print boxers?"

"They're not stupid."

"They are, and you know what? So are you," CJ said, and leaned down to kiss Toby.

Toby's eyes widened at the kiss, then he closed them gratefully and relaxed a little. CJ ended the kiss and leaned back. "Whoa," Toby breathed.

"Yeah. Look—let's get cleaned up and to bed. Deal with it in the morning."

"'kay."

CJ pushed Toby to a sitting position and scrubbed him down quickly, laughing a little when she ran her hands down to pull off Toby's boxers. He stopped her hands and managed to pull them off himself, shyly pulling his knees up. When he was scrubbed and clean, and looked a little better, CJ helped wrap him in a towel and led him to her bed.

Toby hesitantly lay back, worried he'd be sick, then relaxed into the bed. CJ removed the towel and pulled the sheet over him, then drew the duvet up to his chin. "Still cold?"

"No. Where's Josh?"

"Passed out in the living room," CJ said as she stepped back into the bathroom to take off her own wet clothes. Toby got a glimpse of her slim silhouette in the door before she reentered wrapped in her robe. She smiled at him and went out to check on Josh.

Josh was snoring with mouth hanging open, awkwardly curled up in CJ's chair. CJ smiled down at him, carefully shifting the back pillow so Josh was less cramped and very gently pulling Josh's shoes and mostly undone pants off his legs. CJ wondered why Josh had unbuttoned his pants anyway—_did he expect to get lucky or something?_

After making sure Josh was semi-comfortable and still alive, CJ went back into her room. Toby was asleep and breathing regularly if a little shallowly. She smiled down at him, turned off her bedside lamp, and got into bed.

Two hours later, CJ woke to a struggling next to her in the bed and turned groggily toward the commotion. Her eyes widened as she saw Toby struggling to sit up, his face a shade of red unnatural in anybody. CJ jumped up and turned to him, frightened.

Toby could feel himself begin to panic, unable to draw in a clear breath. He couldn't understand what was happening, why he felt his lungs turning liquid and cold, but knew he needed to breathe very badly.

CJ helped him sit up and watching him trying to draw in breath. "Toby? Toby, talk to me!"

Toby turned panicked brown eyes to her, desperate gasps coming loud and fast. He placed one hand on his chest and shook his head—_I can't breathe._

"Oh shit—oh god! Come on Toby, breathe, dammit!"

Brown spots appeared in Toby's vision as he began to lose consciousness. He was trying to cough but didn't seem to have enough air to bring forth a cough. He flailed an arm out and CJ caught it, and with it his panic.

"No! Toby, please, please don't do this! Breathe goddammit!" CJ yelled.

Toby collapsed back, struggling ceased and eyes closed. CJ pulled him up again, slammed him hard twice on the back, and when he didn't respond, bent over him and started mouth-to-mouth.

Four, five breaths, and Toby started to cough hoarsely, eyes watering with the effort to breathe. His eyes opened and flashed wildly around, settling on CJ's stricken face. He made an effort to steady his breathing until he could pull in air without feeling panicked.

"Toby?" CJ asked hesitantly.

"CJ?"

From the doorway, a half-undressed and extremely confused Josh Lyman watched while leaning against the wall. "CJ, everything okay?"

CJ reflexively pulled the blanket up around herself. "He couldn't breathe, Josh."

Josh took a couple of steps into the room and looked down at Toby. "He okay?"

"Fine," Toby rasped. He noted he didn't quite feel like talking and wanted to vomit in the worst way.

"I think he'll be okay. You should go back to bed, Josh. But use the sofa."

"All right. Thanks," Josh said, and stumbled back out. CJ turned her attention back to Toby.

"So, Tobus. Think maybe the Scotch reacted badly with your drugs?" CJ asked. Toby looked sheepish.

"Maybe. And maybe—oh Jesus. I wanna throw up. Oh god…"

CJ moved quickly and brought her bedroom trash can around in time for Toby to lean over the bed and vomit dryly. He retched a few times, brought some mucus but nothing much up, and rolled onto his back again. CJ put the trash can next to Toby's side of the bed and crawled over him back into bed. A fine sheen of sweat covered Toby and his skin smelled vaguely metallic. He looked absolutely exhausted. CJ tried to forget she'd just seen him black out. She was frightened.

CJ pulled just the sheet up over them both and moved next to Toby, one arm over the sheet covering his chest. Toby opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her.

"I'm so sorry," he said quietly, trying to connote sincerity with his eyes. Toby felt awful, physically and emotionally, and hated causing CJ any pain.

CJ smiled at him, gently rubbing his chest. "I know."

"I shouldn't have drunk anything."

"Yes."

"Still love me?" Toby let a small smile color his nearly-white face.

"No," CJ answered, and then laughed loudly. Toby blanched even more, then chuckled a little. He wiped his mouth with the sheet, smiled, and shifted down a little to kiss CJ's smiling mouth.

CJ accepted the kiss and brought one long leg over Toby. They moved so they were lying facing each other, eyes locked. Toby let his hand rest on CJ's hip and loved the feeling of her hands moving on his back, sweaty as it was.

"Thank you for saving my life just now," he said with sincerity.

"You're welcome. Maybe I should call the hospital…"

"I'm fine. And—thank you for saving my life all those other times."

"What do you mean, Toby?"

"Well—just, you know, taking care of me. I've been kind of a wreck. Thanks."

CJ saw how he shyly shifted his eyes down while he said this. "I was happy to do it. I just—I wish that—"

"What?"

CJ sighed. "Don't do that to yourself, Toby. You're so hard on yourself all the time, every day. I wish you'd stop hiding everything, until you freak out on us."

"I didn't freak out. I was sick." Toby felt himself protesting aimlessly.

"And why do you think you were sick? You never get sick, Tobus."

Toby closed his eyes briefly. "Look, do we have to do this now?"

"When would you like to do it? What warning signal should I be looking for that tells me well, Toby's ready to come clean?" CJ asked with a touch of anger in her voice. Toby rolled away from her and lay on his back.

"I was just hoping maybe we could do this later. Some time that's not right now, because right now I just—oh man, I just want…" His voice trailed off.

"What? My god, I can't believe you're at a loss for words, Toby."

"Right now I wanna have sex with you in the absolute worst way, CJ, and all this talk about me being sick is getting in the way of that." Toby had always thought honesty was the best policy in love, if not necessarily in politics. He turned his head to see an amused CJ in the dim light. "What?"

"I thought that might be it. Jesus, Toby, you sure can pick the right romantic moment, you know?" She laughed and Toby felt a little hurt.

"I'm sorry I said anything about it. Forget it."

"Oh Toby, that's not what I meant! It's just—I mean come on… we haven't even talked about anything like that for what, a year?"

"It wasn't my decision not to have the discussion," he said a trifle petulantly.

"I don't think it was anyone's decision. We've been a little busy with stuff, you know? You want to talk about sex in your office in the middle of damage control?" She propped herself up on one elbow to look at him.

When Toby looked over to answer the first thing he noticed was that the sheet had fallen away from CJ, exposing a smooth expanse of breast and skin and it took his breath away. He turned onto his side and faced her. "No. But I did want to jump you in your office more than once," he said with a tiny smile. She returned the look.

"Oh, boy."

"What?"

"I thought it was just me wishing Sam would go home early so I could screw you on that sofa in your office."

"Sam never goes home early."

"I know," CJ said, and lowered herself to kiss Toby, wrapping her arms around him. She knew, in the back of her overheated brain, that he wasn't up to the task, could still feel his body's weakness, but thought a little cuddling—_maybe more_, she thought—couldn't hurt.

The kiss deepened and Toby rolled over onto his back again, pulling CJ with him so she was on top. He also felt he wasn't ready for full-scale lust, but wanted to feel CJ's body near him.

Toby ran his hands down her back and sides, eliciting a pleased chuckle from CJ as she rotated her hips against his. "Do you think—" he began between kisses.

"Think what?"

"Think maybe one day Sam'll go home early?"

CJ laughed and kissed her way down Toby's neck, half-noting to herself his beard was longer than usual. "Fat chance," she answered, moving slowly to lick Toby's collarbone while he arched up beneath her.

"Oh god—I better lock him out of the bullpen one night then," Toby said, and they kissed, cuddled, and worked each other into a relatively excited mess before falling asleep in each other's arms, smelling of soap, sweat, and sex.

Josh Lyman was dreaming the dreams of a person who'd mixed alcohols the night before, tossing about on CJ's overstuffed sofa. He wasn't certain later it had all been dreaming, however…

"Shh—Toby, shh, Josh is out there!"

_What? _Josh asked aloud in his dream. He seemed to be in a corner of a room, beer in hand, conspicuous by his lack of clothing. Josh felt someone else was in his dream-room with him, but he wasn't sure who—

"He's asleep, right?"

"Yeah, but—oh yeah, right there!"

Dream-Josh took a sip of his beer, grimaced, and looked at the bottle. A stylized old bike was on the label, leaned on by a grinning Sam Seaborn in a monk's habit. _Holy hell_, Josh thought in his dream, _Sam's a priest?_

A loud sound from the other room finally dispelled the dream enough for Josh to grunt, flick his eyes open, and then turn and settle back into sleep. Later, he was happy it had happened, since he was very disturbed by the idea of Sam Seaborn as a Franciscan priest. He didn't give much thought before he went back to sleep as to what the sound might have been—it was enough that he knew he was at CJ's apartment.

In the morning, CJ carefully untangled herself from Toby, who in his sleep had wrapped his arms around her tightly. CJ smiled at his calm face, so unlike the stressed look she was used to. Retrieving her robe from the floor, she went into the bathroom to shower.

On the sofa, Josh was finally stirring as CJ's kitchen radio turned on, followed quickly by her coffee maker. Josh was sitting up in his boxers, bleary and blinking, when CJ came in from her shower.

"Hey Joshua," she said cheerily as she went into the kitchen. Josh followed her with his eyes, trying to bring his soul back into his body. He knew better than to stand, so swallowed several times and cleared his throat.

"CJ?" he croaked. CJ appeared in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"What happened?"

CJ smiled, went into the kitchen and retrieved two cups of coffee, and came back to sit next to Josh on the sofa. _He looks like boiled hell_, CJ thought as she handed him the coffee.

"Thanks," Josh groaned, and took a big swallow of the coffee. "Oh, yeah. Oh god, yeah." He ran his hand over his face and grimaced. "Arg. Please tell me it's the weekend."

"Sorry. It's Friday. 6am, actually. I forgot to reset my alarm."

"Oh. Oh CJ. I have to go to work today?" Josh asked in pain. CJ laughed.

"Yep. Me too. And if you're gonna be in before 8 you better haul ass, son," she said, amused at his shocked look.

"Oh, Leo's gonna kill me… and Donna. Can't—can't you say I was hit by a car or something, buy me some time?" Josh was swallowing coffee in huge gulps, trying to shake his hangover.

"I think we've got enough medical issues at the moment, Josh. Look—I'll call a cab. You need to get home and get clean. You look like hell."

Josh looked up from the floor where he was contemplating his feet. "Hey—how's Toby? It's coming back to me now, you know."

CJ shrugged. "He's sleeping. He is _not_ going to work today. You and I, on the other hand…" CJ considered, then, "Josh, I need to talk to you about Toby. Sometime later? He's not very forthcoming about what's wrong. I was hoping you'd have some clues after last night. If you can remember them."

Josh moaned. "Well, I'll see. Right now I can barely think. If you'd call a cab I'd love you forever…"

"You already do," CJ laughed, and picked up the phone. As she dialed, Josh made his way into the bathroom, holding his pants in one hand as he shuffled.

Toby lay sprawled across most of the bed, turning more as he drew closer to waking. Josh glanced at him briefly as he went into the bathroom, and thought more about it as he washed his face. By the time he exited the bathroom, pants on and shirt tucked in, he was thinking hard about a Toby in CJ's bed.

CJ was making toast in the kitchen when Josh came back in. "I feel a little better," he said, refilling his coffee cup and leaning against the refrigerator. "Cab coming?"

"Yes," CJ answered. "Toast?"

"Nah. Hey, CJ—"

"Josh?"

"Did—are you—oh, nevermind." Josh shook his head and put it out of mind for the moment. CJ smiled and sat at the table, munching dry toast.

"Nevermind what?"

Josh sat at the table as well. "See, that's the thing—you don't have to mind it anymore. Forget about it."

"Josh, are you wondering if Toby and I are sleeping together?"

Josh choked a little on his coffee. "No! I mean, even if you were, I mean, I don't care," he sputtered.

"Because Sam is wondering it too, I think. I wonder if Leo is too? Or the President?"

"CJ, it doesn't matter. You know that," Josh said seriously. He hated being read so easily, even by CJ, who knew him well. "I don't care."

"Would it bother you if we were?"

"No!" Josh answered, too quickly.

"Well, Joshua, we did sleep together last night. And the night before. We're not having _sex_, but he is sleeping in my bed."

"CJ, I—"

"I mean, I don't think he's really ready for sex yet, he's not well," she continued, and finally laughed as she saw Josh pale.

"It's really okay, CJ. I don't need to know."

"Josh, you're right to wonder, I guess. But—well, Toby and I haven't really talked about it much lately. We've been too busy. And you can imagine, there's a lot of stuff we'd have to work out."

Josh was silent a moment, thoughtful. "You two—you're in love with each other," he said quietly. CJ sighed.

"I suppose that's a way to put it. Sam seems to think so too. Maybe it's just Toby and I who need convincing."

Josh watched CJ go silent, and decided he'd let it go for now. He wasn't really concerned about CJ and Toby sleeping together. Josh thought they'd make a good couple. What he was concerned with was their powerful personalities getting in the way of a relationship, not to mention their obligations to more-than-full-time jobs. He wanted so much for both of them to be happy.

A car horn gave him his out. "That's for me. CJ, I'm sorry about last night. I'll check in with you later today?"

CJ walked with him to the front door. "I'll talk to you later. If anyone asks, Toby's not coming in. He's fine. If Leo asks, Toby's fine and I'll talk to him later. If Sam asks, tell him to call here and talk to Toby—Sam'll worry until he hears from Toby personally. I'll see you at work in a bit."

"'kay. See you."

CJ went back into the bedroom and noted Toby was awake but still lying down. "Hey, cutie," she said as she sat next to him on the bed.

"Don't call me that," he said, bringing a smile to CJ's face.

"Ah, you must feel okay."

"Sorry. Morning," Toby said, taking her hand in his.

"Morning. I've gotta get ready to go, my little scribe."

"I can get up," Toby began. CJ shook her head and went to her closet.

"No, my boy, you're staying here today. Your hangover will be hitting soon, I'm sure. And if you _don't_ stay here, Toby," CJ threatened as she turned with a suit on a hanger, "I'll send Ginger and Bonnie to take care of you."

"I give," Toby said, raising his hands in surrender.

"Good. There's food in the fridge and coffee made. When you're ready, go feed yourself, and then for god's sake take your medicine and go back to bed. I'll be back around 430 today."

"Okay. Are you—will you run interference for me today?"

"Yes. And since I assume you'll be calling people all day at work, you can let them know you're doing well and not mention your stupid binge last night."

Toby winced. "Ouch. Sorry."

CJ came out of the bathroom with her suit on, and Toby whistled. "Glad you approve."

"Oh yeah. Sure you don't wanna stay home today?" Toby said with a sly smile.

"Whatever. Look," CJ sat next to Toby again, "Toby, we need to talk when I get back. Okay? Because if we don't and you don't straighten up, I'm calling Stanley and we'll go that route."

"All right."

"Promise?"

Toby kissed her hand. "I promise. Now go to work and lie to the press."

"Screw you. Be good, Toby."

"I am _so_ glad it's Friday, Donna, I wish I could tell you how happy I am."

Donnatella Moss ignored her boss as she was wont to do when Josh chattered. "Mm-hmm."

"No, really. In just a few little hours I'm so free, the anticipation is killing me… a weekend of pure relaxation and bliss, just me and my bed…"

"Josh, you're in meetings until 9 tonight, so if you want to come out of the clouds, focus, maybe shave those parts of your face you missed, we can start the day."

"See, Donna, that's wrong. You're supposed to say 'Josh, I feel your enthusiasm and I will do everything I can as your assistant to facilitate your departure today.'"

"Josh, I'm going to go facilitate your schedule. And if you're going, will you get me some coffee too please?" Donna said with a bright smile. Josh dropped his head on the desk and groaned.

He was still sitting there when a tap on the door made him raise his head. Sam Seaborn stood in the doorway with a copy of Aurelius' _Meditations_ in one hand. Sam came in and sat across from Josh.

"Good morning handsome."

"Grunt," Josh grunted. "Donna says I missed some spots shaving."

Sam looked closely at his friend. "Yeah, a little. Still, you don't look bad for someone who apparently has a hangover."

"So you can tell, huh? Arg," Josh said, leaning back in his chair. Sam smiled.

"I recognize that faraway and visionary look. You got drunk as hell last night, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh." Josh rubbed his face. "So, catching up on your Greek poetry or something?" he asked, gesturing at Sam.

Sam looked down at his book and back at Josh with a frown. "Heathen. Marcus Aurelius was a Roman emperor. You saw 'Gladiator', didn't you?"

Josh stood and stretched. "Nah. I get distracted by the haircuts. And there weren't enough lions and Christians. Why you reading it?"

"Well, he's got some nice quotes on all kinds of things. I go back to him from time to time. But hey, I wanted to ask you something."

"Go," Josh said, perching on his desk with arms crossed.

"It's, uh, a bit awkward, and I feel really kinda odd bringing it up, but—"

"CJ told me," Josh finished, feeling Sam's discomfort.

Sam gaped at Josh, and began to blush madly. Josh smiled. "I—when?" he finally managed.

"This morning. I spent the night on the sofa in her place. And Toby, apparently, spent the night in her bed."

Sam made waving motions with one hand. "No, I don't wanna know. Really."

Josh frowned. "Why? They not cute enough? We can't all be as pretty as you, Sam."

"Josh! That's not it. But—I mean, I let slip something, about them maybe being together, and well… I just don't feel good about it. It's not my—_our_ business."

Josh stood and walked back and forth. "But, it is our business, Sam. And not just as friends. You know that."

Sam slumped back in his seat. "Aw, I know. I just—it's not fair to them."

Josh leaned against a bookcase. "I know it."

CJ was in Leo McGarry's office after the second press briefing, following the chief of staff quietly out of the briefing room. He asked Margaret to hold calls for a while and led CJ into his office.

"Good briefing on the raid." McGarry leaned on his desk and crossed his arms, not giving CJ an opportunity to read him.

"Thanks," she said, sitting in a chair.

"So, how's Toby?"

CJ was taken a little aback that the question had come so soon. "Uh, well, I think he's gonna, you know, gonna be okay. Yeah."

"Do you think I should get in touch with Stanley?"

"I don't know. I don't—no, I don't think so, not yet. He wants to talk it out now a little, and I think I should give him the chance."

"Has he talked much about it yet, whatever it was?" Leo wasn't sure entirely what was gnawing at Toby, but knew the man well enough to understand only a serious issue could keep the communications director out of his office.

CJ sighed. "No. He's talking around it, but it's definitely part of his mother's death. You know Toby."

Leo sat down on the chair across from CJ. "Not as well as you do."

"Ah."

"CJ, I think you know what I mean."

"Uh, I think I might. And, can I just say that it won't be an issue—" 

Leo snorted. "You think I care about that now? CJ, I want Toby in here doing his job, but more than that I want to know you're all going to be okay, and—"

Leo was cut off as the door to the Oval Office opened. They both stood as the President came in.

"Hey Leo, CJ," Bartlet said, strolling rather nonchalantly into the office.

"Mr. President," CJ and Leo chimed together. Bartlet looked with entirely too intelligent eyes at his chief of staff and press secretary and took a seat behind Leo's desk.

"So, tell me about my communications director. When can I expect him back at work?"

CJ spun several answers in her head, trying to come up with a reasonable one, when Leo spoke up.

"CJ said he's not ready. I think he needs more time."

"Do you… CJ?"

"Sir, I think Toby needs a little more time, and maybe a little more medical care." She saw Bartlet frown slightly.

"How long did you both think we could carry on without him? I don't mean to suggest he's not replaceable or anything, but he's not, so—how do we get him back?" Bartlet asked.

"I think he should see a doctor again, and figure out how to recover fully medically, and then, sir, I think he's gonna need to talk some things out," CJ answered. "Sam can cope in the meantime."

"No, Sam cannot cope, or we wouldn't have both a director and a deputy director of communications. CJ, I'm not trying to suggest you drag him back here, or even that you let him drag himself in. I'm concerned about him too. But you both know if Toby isn't working he's miserable."

"Well sir," Leo McGarry smiled, "he's pretty miserable most of the time he _is_ working."

"CJ, do you think you could give me a personal briefing on Toby's condition once a day? Let him know I'd really like him to get his ass back here, and tell him to use his damn medical benefits. Make it happen for me, all right?" Bartlet got up to walk back to his office.

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

Bartlet stopped near the door. "And hey—don't let him know I'm worried about him, okay? He hates that."

CJ was stretched out on the sofa in Toby's office when Josh came in around 4pm. He stopped short when he noticed CJ.

"Oh. Hey, CJ."

CJ opened her eyes slightly and then closed them. "Joshua."

Josh came in and picked up CJ's feet before sitting on the sofa and dropping them onto his lap. "Gonna share this. Jesus, what a day!"

"Busy?"

"Not even done yet. Meetings till like nine, no doughnuts, no pie…"

"I'm sure there are some apples and peanut butter downstairs."

Josh snorted. "Ah. What I want is a beer and a brat."

CJ opened her eyes and smiled at Josh, whose head was leaned back against the sofa. "What do you know from brats?"

Josh looked over. "What, you think 'cause I'm from the east coast I never chowed down on a good Michigan bratwurst?"

CJ smiled. "Wisconsin brats are good. Michigan makes good cars, not good sausage."

"Whatever. Hey—I had a talk with Sam earlier."

"Uh huh."

"He's really embarrassed about the thing he said to you, about you and Toby."

"Oh."

"I told him to chill out."

"Good."

"I mean, 'cause it's not our place to direct office love affairs or anything—"

"Joshua!"

Josh spoke quickly. "Well, if you and Toby wanna have something going on, it's not like I'd be averse to it or anything, I mean, you'd even make a cute couple, if maybe a little mismatched and—"

"Josh, shut up. But I appreciate it. I know Sam felt bad about it. But you know, it is your business. I think that's why I haven't thought much about it happening. And besides that, I wasn't always sure about Toby."

Josh looked over, curious. "What do you mean? I've seen him, I mean, I've seen him look at you with such—something."

"Well-phrased, Josh. You wanna do the next briefing? Look, we're both such insanely busy people, and high-profile, and frankly doing this job doesn't allow you to have a life. Barely allows time to eat. And Toby—he's—I don't know, he's—"

"A complex guy," Josh finished. CJ smiled and nodded. She was about to continue when Sam appeared at the door.

"Hey all. I was hoping the sofa was free." CJ and Josh looked up and smiled.

"Come on in and join the party," CJ said, lifting both her legs up. Sam laughed and slid onto the sofa next to Josh. CJ shifted herself up a little to be comfortable and stretched her legs out more. "This is probably the closest thing we've had to a party in a while, guys."

"I know. I was kinda hoping maybe you'd dance for us," Sam said.

"I was hoping you'd dance for us, Sam. Come on, a little hokey pokey would make _my_ day, huh Josh?" CJ laughed.

"Only if he did it in a chicken suit."

"Hey, I came in to lay down, not be made fun of!" Sam protested.

"Oh come on, Toby's not here to tease, and you're his deputy," CJ said, then stopped.

"It's okay, CJ," Sam said into the silence. "Hey, could I stop by later and see Toby?"

"Don't you have stuff till ten?" CJ asked, wondering if it was a good idea.

"Nothing I can't put off. I can be gone by eight."

"I don't see why not, if Toby doesn't mind. If he's not feeling well I'll call you, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Well, if I'm gonna leave here early I better get back to work. You two be good."

Sam got up and left, Josh and CJ watching him. "I should get back to work too."

"No rest for the weary," CJ said as Josh got up. "I'll see you later."

"Later."

With both of the guys gone CJ sat up. She looked around the office with a sigh. Bits of Toby here and there—she noted his rubber ball on his desk, the scattering of pencils stuck into his bulletin board, his Yankees cap perched on a bust of Lincoln, a greeting card tacked to the edge of a bookcase behind his desk. CJ stood and looked at it, wondering. Toby wasn't at all sentimental, and for him to keep a card sent him… she walked over to it.

It was a vaguely familiar image, a cheesy black-and-white picture on the front of a little girl blowing out candles on a birthday cake. CJ felt a little cold as she reached out to read the card.

_Sorry, but it was the first birthday card_

_ I saw! I know you hate these but so_

_ what—just because it's your birthday_

_ doesn't mean you get everything you _

_ want! Happy birthday, Batman. Love you-_

CJ

CJ felt a tear slide down her face and she sat in Toby's desk chair. She leaned her head into one hand, elbow propped on the desk, and looked at the card.

"Bastard," she said quietly, then laughed. "Little, silly jerk. Oh, Toby. Why do you make it so hard?"

At five in the afternoon Toby was staring dazedly at the TV, remote control in hand. He was clicking absently between channels, eventually becoming engrossed in a sport he thought was cricket. It involved odd-looking bats, silly uniforms, and entirely foreign rules.

Toby was still trying to figure out the scoring when CJ came in and called from the kitchen.

"Hey Toby!"

"Hey… do you have any idea what the hell this is?" Toby answered. CJ walked in, taking off her coat. She squinted at the TV.

"It's cricket."

"I thought it might be… I can't figure out how they know who won. There seems to be a lot of running around spastically and funky pitching."

"Well, it's a civilized English game, you know," she said, going into her room.

"And that's the problem!" Toby called after her. He watched the game for a while longer, finally clicking to CNN when CJ reentered in pajama pants and tank top.

"Hey there," she said, sitting next to him on the sofa. "How you feeling?"

"Not bad. Sometimes a little like I'm gonna puke, but only if I get up too fast."

CJ looked closely at Toby, who accepted the stare. "You look better."

Toby smiled. "I hope so. I felt like death earlier."

"You looked it. Hey, everyone sends their best. The President, in particular, wants you back at work."

Toby paled a little. "Oh. He didn't actually ask about me, did he?"

CJ considered lying, then plunged ahead. "He not only asked about you, but he specifically asked me to make sure your ass got back to work as soon as possible. Sorry, but that's basically what was said to me and Leo."

Toby closed his eyes briefly. "Ohh, not good."

"I told him I'd do what I could. Of course, all of it depends on you."

"I know! I know…."

CJ folded her legs underneath her and faced Toby. "My friend, my buddy—what do you want me to do?"

Toby sighed. "You know—CJ. Do you—do you have any idea how difficult this is? I don't know, maybe you do… To ask for help—I don't know what to do right now. Sure, I need help. I know that, but what I don't know is what kind, where, how." He ran a hand over his face and turned startling eyes to CJ. "Help me, CJ."

CJ had to look away briefly. When she looked back at him, Toby saw a resolve in her eyes.

"All right. I will. And for now, what I want is you to try for god's sake to stop beating yourself up. We can start the rest tomorrow. But Toby—" CJ placed her hands on either side of Toby's face gently—"please, please, _please_ give yourself a break."

Toby placed his hands on hers, drawing them down. "All right."

They looked at each other for a long while. CJ felt her heart thudding madly, and finally moved across the space and drew Toby to her. They hugged a long while, both unwilling to let go and have to see the other's tears.

When they finally separated, Toby smiled and kissed CJ lightly. "Thanks," he said, a little shakily. CJ laughed.

"Is that how you show your gratitude?" she asked, and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Toby's eyes widened in surprise before he relaxed into the kiss, his arms around CJ's waist. She leaned into him until he fell back against the arm of the sofa and they both chuckled. CJ lifted her head away first. She smiled down at Toby, who had a goofy and pleased look on his face.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"You—my beard." Toby touched CJ's reddened chin briefly. CJ laughed.

"I know… the first time I ever kissed you, you were a beardless youth."

"Wow. Really."

"Yep. And kinda a jerk even then."

"Oh god. How've we managed not to kill each other over the years?"

CJ considered briefly. She saw Toby watching her, serious and intent, and suddenly was seized by a powerful urge to tickle him, poke him, somehow make him stop taking himself so seriously. So she did.

"Because—" And CJ moved both hands to Toby's sides and tickled.

"Hey—hey!" Toby was up and on the floor in a heartbeat, his oversensitivity to being tickled kicking in. He landed with a thud and looked up, mock offended. "What the hell was that for?" he squawked. CJ slid to the floor and tickled him again. "Stop it! CJ, don't—hey!"

She chased Toby along the floor until he put the recliner between himself and her. He was red-faced and panting with mixed indignation and irrepressible laughter. "Jesus, CJ!"

CJ was laughing uncontrollably. She knelt on the recliner, facing Toby, who was leaning on it with a half-smile on his face. "Toby—you're just so damn cute when you laugh, do you know that?" she asked him with a smile.

Toby was beginning to see CJ's purpose. He smiled down at her and kissed her nose. "I guess."

"Those dimples don't always hide under that beard."

At that Toby laughed. "All right, all right. Look, I've been taking myself seriously since before my bar-mitzvah. It'll take some time. Okay?"

CJ turned and sat in the chair, looking up at Toby. "Fine. Let's order out. And then I'm making a phone call to Rebecca Shindler and you're gonna see her again. That not breathing thing was too goddamn scary. And then we'll go from there."

Toby felt himself begin to automatically protest, and halted himself. Instead, he came around, grabbed the phone, and sat on the floor to call, leaning back against CJ's legs. "Only if we can order pizza."

"Is there anything else?" CJ asked. She was still smiling, but inside she was a little awed at Toby's acquiescence. _Maybe he deserves more credit that I give him_, she thought.

Toby called and ordered an extra-large black olive and extra cheese pizza. One of the truly deep attachments CJ and Toby had outside work was the love of a good, fat slice of olive-and-cheese pizza. When he hung up CJ patted Toby's head.

"There's a good man," CJ said, tiredness creeping into her voice.

"Don't smack me on the head, CJ. Ow!"

CJ had really smacked him then. "I'll let you know when I'm being abusive."

"Okay! Jeez. Look, you're tired. Come over to the sofa and lay down."

Toby got CJ settled on the couch. She rolled onto her side and groaned.

"I wasn't very tired till I got home…" she said, trailing off. Toby sat on the end of the sofa and CJ picked up her head until Toby slid over and offered his lap. "Thanks."

"No problem."

They remained there quietly, Toby gently stroking CJ's hair as he heard her gradually drift off to sleep. He hoped the pizza took the usual hour to get there. Toby didn't want to disturb CJ until he absolutely had to.

When the buzzer rang Toby got gently up, not waking CJ, and moved silently to the door, buzzing the pizza up. He opened the door and was rummaging in his wallet, door opened, when he looked up and jumped back.

"Jesus! Don't _do_ that!"

Sam smiled broadly, pizza in hand, delivery man behind him as he stood in the door. "Gotcha," he said, stepping in and going into the kitchen. Toby paid the amused delivery man and, heart still pounding, went into the kitchen to see Sam getting plates.

"Sam, you scared the hell out of me! What are you doing here?"

"Here, take this," Sam said, handing Toby a plate and flipping open the box. He served up slices onto three plates, and began eating his slice hungrily as Toby watched. "Whatsamatter, you not hungry?" Sam said around a mouthful of cheese.

Toby shook his head and laughed a little. "Yeah, yeah I am." He took a small bite of the pizza and instantly his mouth was flooded with intense flavor. He sighed, feeling slightly weak at how good the food tasted. "Oh, man… this is the best! Oh, yeah…"

Sam sat at the table and smiled. "Glad you're hungry. Hey, where's CJ?"

"Oh—I forgot. She's taking a nap, we should be kinda quiet." Toby sat at the table and for a while they both ate in silence. Sam was on his third slice before he spoke again.

"Toby…"

"Yes?"

"I—I can't say I was dealing very well with you being ill… I mean, I know that sounds stupid, but, well, there it is." Sam said this in a halting voice, unsure how Toby would take it or even, he thought, what it meant.

Toby looked at him with wide eyes. "I don't—Sam, I'm sorry. Really."

Sam shook his head. "No, no. Don't be sorry. You know, it's just—well, when Josh was shot, I didn't take it very well, and I felt so helpless—

"I know what you mean," Toby muttered.

"—and I hated, I _hated_ to feel like that. I felt my brother had been shot, and I was so angry and cold, and just _helpless_! And this happens with you—none of us knew what to do or how to help. God, all I wanted was to find some way to make you better… I know how stupid that sounds. But—you guys, CJ, you, Josh—you're more family than my family. And—I just wanted you to know how happy I am you're okay. All right. Now, you can make fun of me. But gimme a slice of pizza first," Sam finished. He got his slice and looked up at Toby with that boyish, sincere, and genuine half-smile of happiness Toby was used to seeing on Sam.

Toby knew that of all of them Sam was by far the most sensitive and easily hurt. There was something unfailingly positive and open about Sam, something being a professional political operative hadn't beat out of him. Sam Seaborn was the most idealistic person Toby knew, and he knew Sam thought at times it was a handicap. Sam tried very hard to be the Bartlet "pit bull" that Josh was, but Toby knew at heart Sam was much more a happy Labrador.

"Sam, I—I'm not sure what to say. I felt so bad leaving you there at work alone. But I never would have if I didn't trust you implicitly. I mean, without you—Sam, you're my other mind, my second brain. All the writing—_we_ do it. I can't even begin to count the times I've gone into a meeting or a press thing and said 'thank God Sam's here, 'cause he'd never let me fall on my ass'."

Sam blushed bright red, and said nothing. Toby got a second slice of pizza and went on.

"I'm not sure, Sam, if you'll ever lose that idealism that's so important. I know it gives you a lot of grief sometimes, because you still think people are inherently good. And you should never ever lose it, Sam. If I had died yesterday—

"Toby!" Sam protested, but Toby waved him down.

"—if I had died, I can't think of a better, more committed, and more honest person to take my job. You keep us honest, Sam. The President, me, CJ—you are, my friend, our barometer."

"Don't say that, Toby. You're not dead, I'm no barometer, and the President's message is built by you."

"Bullshit, my little friend. You are all that. And I—I sincerely appreciate your concern. I think I'll be fine. I got my friends, anyway," Toby finished, smiling. He couldn't remember a time they'd spoken like this, and Toby hoped they wouldn't have to do it again for a while.

"Toby—what was it? What happened?" Sam finally asked. He looked at Toby with open, wide eyes. Toby sighed.

"Sam—Jesus. I think you know a little about me and my family, you know it's not all sweetness. And, well—I don't know."

"If you don't want to talk about it—

"No—no, I do. I think. Talking to you about it—it's different than speaking to CJ or Josh. Sometimes I think they're too worried that they'll find something that can't be fixed. But with you—Sam, I trust you, and more importantly, I think you trust me not to fall apart."

"Of course."

In the living room, CJ had been coming out of her nap slowly, hearing male voices. She sat up, identified the voices as Sam and Toby, and moved toward the kitchen to interrupt them. She stopped when she heard Toby say "Sometimes I think they're too worried". She stood near the kitchen door and listened intently.

Toby went on. "So. A year or so ago, my brother and sister and I were worried about our mom. We knew we couldn't have her stay with any of us—it's just impossible. David and I are never home, and Rachel—she has a new baby. But mom—" Toby stopped and wiped his eyes hastily, "—mom was going downhill faster than we thought. She had Alzheimer's, you see. I'd go—oh God, Sam. I'd go see her at our old home, and she'd call me David for an hour, and suddenly switch to Toby and act like I had just walked in. Sometimes she'd go to her old job… she hadn't worked in eleven years, Sam."

"Toby, I'm so sorry," Sam said quietly. Outside, CJ put a hand to her mouth to stop a gasp.

"Well. Well, you know, what could we do? David and I decided, you know, that maybe she should go to a home. Rachel kept saying, 'no, she should come with me', but I knew it wouldn't work. When David started to cave, I told them 'Look, mom is not going to get better, and do you honestly think she'd want us to see her like this?' Oh, God."

Toby stopped for a minute, overwhelmed. He still hated to remember how harshly he'd spoken to Rachel, how insistent he'd been on a nursing home for their mother.

"I had no idea, Sam. If I'd known she was going to die alone, not really herself—God! But I said 'we have to put her in a home, it's the best thing!' I just kept insisting, and they gave in." His voice had developed a crack and Sam felt himself breathing evenly to keep from tearing up.

"And so, she went. I don't think she quite knew what was going on, but you know, Alzheimer's—it comes in and out. I was visiting her once, and she looked me dead on and asked me when I'd lost my soul. I said, 'What, ma?', and she asked me when I had grown cruel enough to want to put her in a home to die."

"Oh Jesus," Sam whispered.

"Yeah," Toby said. "It would go on like that, not knowing, knowing… it was really hard. Sometimes she'd ask for dad, sometimes for Rachel, and sometimes she'd ask for her own father. What was worse, Sam, what was the worst of all was when she was totally lucid. When she knew her children had sent her away. The look in her eye—the loss! I can't forget. I see it at night. She didn't forgive what we did."

"Toby, I'm sure that wasn't it." Sam leaned across the table. "There was nothing you could do that you didn't do."

Toby looked at Sam with shining eyes. "You know what? _I don't know_! Sam, I don't know if that's true. And it's—it's killing me."

CJ heard the last and understanding of a kind hit her. She brushed tears from her face and settled her hair before going into the kitchen, yawning exaggeratedly. "Oh, hey guys!"

Sam shook himself mentally and smiled at CJ. "Hey! Pizza delivery," he said, handing CJ a slice.

"Mmm. Oh, fabulous. When did you get here, Princeton?"

"I brought the pizza up about twenty minutes ago. Toby said you were napping."

CJ took a seat at the table. "I was. Needed it. Hey, Toby—you're eating something!"

Toby had settled his face quickly, and turned red but focused eyes to CJ. "You know how much I love olives," he said. "Sam and I have been talking."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I think—well, it was good for me, Sam, how about you?" Toby smiled.

Sam laughed. "It was great. Really. Oh, and CJ, I wanna apologize again for what I said earlier, I didn't mean to—

"Sam, it's fine. You see Toby here, he bears no marks of passion, no love bites."

"Yet," Toby finished. Sam stared, then laughed loudly.

"Toby! I—oh, man… will you name the first boy after me?" he asked between whoops.

CJ and Toby were both laughing. CJ shifted from her seat into Toby's lap, and Toby looked up with mildly surprised eyes. She finished her slice and put her arms around Toby's neck, pulling him in for a soft, spicy kiss.

Sam smiled, not as uncomfortable as he might have been before. He was ready to file CJ and Toby as an item, and wondered if they were too.

"Hey, you," Toby said softly when they broke the kiss. CJ smiled at him and looked at Sam.

"You want some of this too, big boy?" she said huskily, and both of them laughed.

"No, I'm fine, thanks. Man—how long were you two gonna try to keep up appearances? The pool on you two was getting ready to fold!"

"Hey, I had two hundred on us getting together before the end of the year!" Toby said, smiling. He was smiling so hard he thought his face would crack in two.

"Jerks," CJ said.

"No, really, I could use the two hundred… ow!" Toby rubbed his chest where CJ had punched him.

"That's what you get."

Sam stood and stretched. "Well, if you two are gonna get it on, I should get going."

"No, stay, Sam!" CJ protested.

"Yeah, CJ wants a three-way—OW!"

Toby rubbed the back of his head where CJ had smacked him hard before getting off his lap. "Keep it up, Tobus. Sam, you sure you wanna go?"

"Yeah. I wanted to see how Toby was. I can go now. Thanks for the pizza," he said, walking to the door. Toby watched him from the table."

"Thanks for coming by, Sam. I appreciate it," he said. Sam waved as he and CJ stood by the door.

"Be good, Toby. I'll see you."

"Sam, thanks for coming over. I'll walk you down."

At the entrance to her building, CJ stood with Sam for a moment. "You heard it, right?" she asked.

Sam nodded. "His mother. He's carrying a hell of a lot of guilt about her around."

"I can't believe—

"What?" Sam asked.

CJ shook her head. "I don't want this to sound bad, Sam, but I can't believe he couldn't tell me. Or even Josh."

Sam shrugged. "He said he didn't expect me to be overly concerned about him snapping, that I trust him. And I do. Maybe I'm not as close to him and the whole thing… I mean, you're with him, in love—

"Sam…"

"No, listen. You two are in love, and maybe he didn't want to work it through with you. Maybe he thought that wasn't a good way to start a relationship. And Josh—

"Yes, Josh."

Sam turned pained eyes to CJ. "CJ, Toby found Josh. At Rosslyn. He was the first one to see him, lying there shot. He was so close to Josh's pain, and so scared. I don't think he wanted to go there with Josh, and maybe take Josh somewhere he didn't need to be."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Or maybe he thinks I'm too stupid to be hurt by it—no, CJ, I'm kidding. We're just—we're all different. This time, it was me. Next time—who knows?"

"God forbid there be a next time!"

"I hear ya."

CJ leaned over and gave Sam a peck on the cheek. He smiled sheepishly and returned the kiss. "You are a good, good man, Sam Seaborn. Go home and sleep."

"I will. Take care of yourself—and Toby."

CJ watched Sam stroll down the street in the direction of the train, smiled, and went upstairs.

Toby was sitting on the sofa with the pizza box on the coffee table in front of him, watching CNN. He looked up as CJ came in.

"Sam off?"

CJ sat next to him. "Yep."

"Sam is a good man," he said.

"Yep."

There was silence for several moments before Toby spoke again:

"CJ, I'm sorry I couldn't say that to you."

CJ turned to him. "Say what?"

"About my mother. I know you had to be listening. Your timing was too good."

"Toby…"

"It's okay. Sam was just the right person to talk to about it, today, now. It doesn't really make sense."

"It's the way things happen, Toby. Don't worry about it. It doesn't have to make sense, at least not tonight. But—

"Yes. I think I can talk to someone about it. I have a heads up, even. I know what's in my head. Now I need someone to help me sort it out."

CJ leaned into him and kissed him. He swallowed his mouthful of pizza and smiled. "What did I do right to deserve you?"

CJ laughed. "You came into my life like a manic, polysyllabic whirlwind and threatened violence to my collegues unless you found me. It was _quite_ the entrance, my man!"

Toby smiled. "I was such an asshole. But yeah—it _was_ a good entrance!"

"I think, Toby, that we'll be fine. Together. And tomorrow, we'll start over, and Josh and Sam and Leo and, yes, the President will be there for you. You aren't on your own anymore, even if you want to be."

Toby leaned deeper into the sofa and put an arm around CJ to pull her closer. He felt safer, warmer, and more content than he had in weeks.

"A—men," he said, as dark night stole in through the cracks in the blinds.

Nighttime I'd lay on my back an' look up at the stars; mornin' I'd set an' watch the sun come up; midday I'd look out from a hill at the rollin' dry country; evenin' I'd foller the sun down… There was the hills, an' there was me, an' we wasn't separate no more. We was one thing. And that one thing was holy.

And I got thinkin', on'y it wasn't thinkin', it was deeper down than thinkin'. I got thinkin' how we was holy when we was one thing, an' mankin' was holy when it was one thing. An' it on'y got unholy when one mis'able little fella got the bit in his teeth an' run off his own way, kickin' and draggin' an' fightin'. Fella like that bust the holiness. But when they're all workin' together, not one fella for another fella, but one fella kind of harnessed to the whole shebang—that's right, that's holy.

END


End file.
